Steps, Forward and Back
by otherhawk
Summary: AU Continuation to 'Falling Like Dominoes' Danny and Rusty trying to rebuild their life after everything that happened.
1. One day after

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Ocean's 11. I own Carson, Moffatt and Felding. Anyone want them? **

**A/N1: This is a continuation to 'Falling like dominoes'. I strongly suggest that you read that first. Really doubt that this will make sense without it. I'm _hoping _it makes sense with it.**

**A/N2: This story is set beginning from one day after the end of the Benedict job and the plan is to continue until a couple of weeks before the events that would be Ocean's 12 if we weren't firmly in an alternate universe. This will therefore be a certain number of chapters long. Any questions? **

**A/N3: This fic is rated 'M'. And while there is nothing in this chapter that merits the ratings, in later chapters there will be. I'd look out for chapter 3 for a start. At any rate, there are adult themes throughout. *shrug* But, if you've read 'dominoes' you probably knew that already.  
**

* * *

**One day later**

They'd driven out of Vegas after the party at Reuben's finally came to an end. Scattering and leaving the scene of the crime had always been part of the plan. They'd driven for a few hours. Stopped in some anonymous hotel in some even more anonymous town and gone straight to bed.

Rusty's nightmares woke them four or five times during the night. Memories and permutations. Fifty seven varieties of pain. Each time Danny spoke to him, urgent, calming words until – eventually – he was sure of where he was and he clung to Danny and accepted, cherished, the love and comfort on offer.

In the end, a little before dawn, they managed to get just under two hours of continuous, uninterrupted sleep. More than he'd managed in....a long time. A very long time. And when he did wake, he wasn't crying or shaking enough to disturb Danny. Which was probably good. _Any _sleep might seem miraculous to him, but Danny was used to more. Still, he hesitated, staring at Danny, sleeping inches from him, selfishly wanting the company, the comfort. Eventually he got up and, bleary eyed, headed out to the balcony. He leaned on the railing and stared out at the city below, feeling the breeze on his face. It felt nice. Reassuring. If he concentrated on the sensation he thought that maybe he could convince himself that he was still free.

The nightmare clung to him, even though it hadn't been one of the worst ones. He grinned; it was nice to have some kind of scale to these things. Nice to have the idea that some occasions of helddownhurttrappedforced were less than others. But _that _time, the time he'd been dreaming about, it had been Moffatt and Jones, Moffatt's cellmate, and it had been a stolen moment behind the laundry, and it had been _fast, _time had been of the essence and there'd been no games, no words, no teasing, no kisses and lingering touches – no pretence that it was anything other than what it was.

That was the best way. If it had to happen. That was best. He bit his lip and sat down heavily on the railing as he imagined Danny's face if Rusty explained that there were ways he preferred to be fucked. And he knew, or thought he knew, or was almost nearly sure that he thought he knew that Danny wouldn't be disgusted. Horrified, shocked, angry, heartsick. Not disgusted. Not repulsed by the level that Rusty had sunk to. Didn't stop him imagining it. Didn't do anything to ease the disgust _he _felt at himself, the shame at everything he'd allowed to be done to him. That was wrapped so tightly around him, embedded so deep in his mind, his soul, that he couldn't imagine it would ever change.

He drew his knees up to his chest and shivered. What happened now? So they were together now, him and Danny and that was...well, it _was. _They were. A glorious, undeniable fact. And Danny had promised that he wouldn't leave, and Danny really _was _staying with him because he wanted to. Needed to. Danny _loved _him. And that was all true and that was all undeniable, but the whispers in the back of his mind were so very loud. Asking _why._ Demanding to know how Danny could stand to look at him when he couldn't bear to look at himself. Reminding him that they'd had all this in the first place, and Danny still left before. Insisting that there were things that he had done that would drive Danny away all over again, that would be beyond even Danny's ability to understand or forgive. Saying that it didn't even _matter _what Danny was offering, because he simply didn't deserve it.

"Rusty!" Danny's voice sounded hushed and urgent, and with difficulty he turned his head to see Danny and, with an effort, he smiled a good morning.

"Rus'?" Danny's voice was calm. Forcibly so. Frighteningly so, and he was standing absolutely still as if he was afraid to get closer. "Would you mind getting down from there?"

He blinked and looked around him slowly. Oh. He was on the balcony. Perched on the very corner of the railing, most of his weight on the wrong side of the twenty storey drop. He stared down over the edge, the ground below so very far away, and it seemed like Danny had forgotten how to breathe.

Quickly he moved backwards, scrambled down until the balcony was under his feet and Danny was gripping his arms tightly, pulling him inside, away from open spaces and long drops.

Danny let go the moment they were inside and stood staring at him, wide-eyed and shaking. He sank bonelessly onto the nearest chair and looked up anxiously at Danny. "I wasn't thinking," he assured Danny frantically. "I _wasn't. _I just..." He shrugged. "Just wasn't thinking."

"I know," Danny said heavily. "You didn't look like you meant to. You looked blank. Like you had no idea where you were. How much better do you really think that makes it?"

He would say sorry, but it wasn't what Danny wanted to hear, and besides, they both already knew he was. He reached forwards instead, reached for Danny's hands, searching for everything he – they – needed.

Danny took his hand and held it against his face for a long moment. "There's someone who wants to hurt you, Rusty. And it's you. And that's different from everything we've had to deal with before. But it's still..." Danny trailed off and shrugged. _It's still us. I'm going to protect you_, Rusty read, as easily as if Danny had said it out loud.

He smiled slightly. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not going to let me out of your sight again?" he asked wryly.

Danny looked serious. "I never meant to in the first place," he said, and he gripped Rusty's hand tighter, in ridiculous apology, and the look in his eyes was even more pronounced, the look Rusty had seen so often, the look that was _always _there now, the I-could-have-lost-you look, and Rusty wrapped his arms around Danny tightly, in a desperate, joint need for reassurance, promising that he was _here, _that they were _together _and he was going to do his very best to make sure things stayed that way.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day drifting and doing very little. Walking round shops and into cafes. Ice cream and coffee featured heavily in their non-plan. To Danny's intense relief there was no repeat of that morning. That was probably the very worst way to wake up he'd ever experienced, and he couldn't bring himself to even contemplate the could-have-beens.

Still, there were a few bad moments. Three moments. Three painful, inexplicable moments when he saw Rusty's eyes glaze over. When he saw Rusty start to vanish in on himself and he had to act quickly to stop Rusty getting lost entirely. So far simply reminding Rusty of his presence was enough. He could only hope that continued. And he didn't know what had triggered any of the incidents today, didn't know what combination of words, looks, people, thoughts, might affect Rusty. Certainly people were inclined to look twice at Rusty; the marks that Carson had left were still vivid and Danny knew that even before, even at the best of times, Rusty would have been intensely aware of that kind of scrutiny. Now it left him vulnerable and Danny wasn't really surprised when Rusty quietly suggested that maybe they could go back to the hotel for dinner. Eat room service. Watch TV. Together alone.

Of course Danny wasn't looking too hard at the bruises either. Not because he thought Rusty would be uncomfortable. Every time he saw the physical evidence of what Carson had done, he started thinking about ways to break a man out of prison and things that could be done once he was there. And as wonderfully tempting as the thought remained; Carson wasn't what was important. Rusty was. And he mustn't even come close to forgetting that again.

They got up to the room and Danny turned the TV on and turned his attention to the room service menu. After a moment of quietness and no comment, he glanced up, frowning. Rusty was perched uncomfortably on the very edge of the sofa, glancing uneasily at the door and the windows. He was quiet, unnaturally so, like he was doing his best to not exist, and Danny hated it.

"Rusty - " he said softly.

Rusty blinked and looked at him and did his best to smile. "I think the club sandwich sounds good," he suggested brightly.

Danny sighed. "Good guess. But there isn't a club sandwich on this menu."

"Oh," Rusty paused. "What sort of room service menu _is _this?"

"What is it?" Danny asked gently.

"It's a sandwich with three slices of bread. But that's not important right now." The joke was automatic.

"Rusty," Danny chided.

"It's nothing," Rusty said dismissively, and again he tried to smile, but he wouldn't meet Danny's eyes.

"It's not nothing," Danny answered firmly.

Rusty shrugged. "It's stupid anyway." His eyes were fixed firmly on the floor.

Carefully – slowly – Danny stepped forwards and put a hand on Rusty's shoulder. Rusty jumped – flinched – immediately and Danny swore and moved his hand away quickly but Rusty reached out and grabbed his hand before he could.

"Don't," Rusty said abruptly.

He hesitated, torn between wanting to comfort and not wanting to trigger any memories. But what Rusty wanted took priority, and Rusty wasn't letting go of his hand. He stood at Rusty's shoulder, listened to Rusty fighting for control and silently promised all over again that he wasn't going anywhere. Presently, Rusty's breathing slowed to normal, and he looked up at Danny in wordless request.

Smiling reassuringly he sat down on the sofa, careful to leave a comfortable distance between them, right up until the moment when Rusty sighed and leaned over the sofa, pressing himself close against Danny's side, his head leaning back against Danny's shoulder. Unthinkingly – or at least trying not to – Danny slung his arm comfortably and comfortingly around Rusty's shoulders, and he could feel Rusty relax a little, could sense the contentment.

They sat in silence for a while, and gradually the tension crept back in. Not directed at Danny though. Not about the touching. And Rusty was staring at the door again.

He took a deep breath and wondered, savagely, who Rusty was afraid was going to come through that door. Wondered who Rusty was subconsciously waiting for. Wondered who had hurt Rusty so much. Rusty tensed against his shoulder, pulling away a little, and his gaze fell to the carpet.

It was with a wrench of revelation that he turned the thought around and everything fell into place. Rusty wasn't afraid of who might come in. Rusty was afraid that he couldn't get out. Trapped just by being in one place a little too long.

"Rus'?" he said gently. "We can leave anytime, you know. Right now, if that's what you need. Or what you want."

Rusty sat up, away from him, hunched in on himself. "_Stupid," _he said, and Danny didn't know if he meant the fear or himself.

"It's _not," _he said softly and firmly and he found himself kneeling in front of Rusty, clutching his hand tightly. "Rusty, it's me, remember? That means you get whatever you need. Want. I promise. You want the moon, I'll find a way to get it for you." He stared up into Rusty's eyes and he let Rusty see that he meant every word.

After a moment Rusty smiled slightly. "Good thing for you that I don't, right?"

"Oh, I'd find a way," Danny promised. He would.

"I want to leave," Rusty said, quiet and hesitant.

Danny nodded and stood up. "Then we go."

Time and space and whatever Rusty wanted. And things were going to get better.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed that. Please let me know what you think. **


	2. Three days after

**A/N: InSilva describes Moffatt as _lovely _and wishes him fulfillment and puppies. Or possibly fulfillment with puppies. Is unclear. I try not to judge...**

**A/N2: I have a post-it note! And this is cause for enthusiasm because it means that we know for a fact that this story is going to be 12 chapters long. For on my post-it note is written a _plan._ An actual plan! With chapter numbers and contents and timeframe and everything. I honestly have never had one of those before. Notes, yes, plenty of notes. But this is new. Am feeling proud. **

* * *

**Three days after...**

He left the bathroom door ajar. An uneasy compromise between trust and knowledge, potential threat and love. It was funny how things had changed. Before the concepts of privacy and personal space had largely passed them by. Now he took his pyjamas into the bathroom and made damned sure that Rusty didn't have to think about him in any way they couldn't cope with. But now he _also _couldn't afford to let Rusty completely out of his sight, and with the bathroom door barely open, he could just see Rusty's back as he sat at the table. And even that made him a little uneasy. But after crawling around the truck stop earlier, they'd both really needed a shower. And he'd insisted Rusty go first, and the bathroom door had been left completely open, and he'd sat on the other side of the bedroom, concentrating on being comforting, unthreatening and disinterested. And he'd _listened, _and every single noise had brought him to his feet, ready to run across the room, to check. And when Rusty had finally stepped out of the bathroom, unharmed and fully covered, his smile had been so tired.

To all intents and purposes they'd spent forty-four hours on the road. Rusty was only even close to relaxed when they were moving. The moment they stopped, even for a second, even just for a rest break, even just in a service station for gas and a chance for Danny to gulp at scalding, tasteless coffee, he could already see Rusty shrivelling up, restrained and repressed just by the act of standing still, reduced to silence and shaking and distance. And just because he didn't know the details of the nightmares playing constantly through Rusty's mind didn't mean he couldn't see the results.

He couldn't stand it. They kept moving and the urgency in Rusty's eyes faded just a little.

Trouble was, he thought, leaning against the shower wall and willing his eyes to stay open, there was only so long he could physically do that. Particularly since, by mutual unspoken consent, they'd agreed that Rusty shouldn't be driving. Not until he could go at least a few hours or days without being overwhelmed by the monsters in his head.

This was the second time they'd tried to rest. The first time had been in a dingy little roadside motel, just after Rusty had caught him trying shoplift a packet of caffeine pills. He hadn't wanted to admit he needed them. Rusty's guilt and apology had been immediate and heartfelt, and he'd made sure that Rusty didn't even suspect it wasn't the first packet. But it didn't matter how much he insisted that it wasn't Rusty's fault, that he wasn't nearly as tired as Rusty seemed to think, Rusty had still glared at him until they pulled into the motel. There was a part of him that was darkly-amused at the role-reversal.

He'd been asleep before his head hit the pillow, Rusty's hand clutching his tightly.

He woke up less than an hour later, suddenly and screamingly aware that something was wrong, and he'd sat up to see Rusty huddled against the door, crying in eerie silence and tearing at his face and arms with his fingernails.

Danny hadn't known what to do.

Rusty hadn't recognised him. Hadn't responded to his name. Had flinched when Danny stepped anywhere near. In the end, all he could think to do was hold Rusty's hands lightly to stop him from hurting himself anymore, and try to ignore the way that Rusty physically trembled at the contact, try to remind himself that the look of awful terror on Rusty's face wasn't for him, and lead Rusty out to the car as gently as possible and just keep moving.

With a sigh, he bowed his head under the water and let it run down his neck. There were times when he wondered if some part of Rusty that neither of them fully understood was testing him.

Trouble was, Danny didn't know if he was passing or failing.

* * *

Danny was in the shower and Rusty was trying not to use his time foolishly.

He stared down at the table. At the pack of cigarettes. At the cigarette lighter. At what he wanted.

He knew that Danny didn't like leaving him even for a second, and he couldn't exactly blame him. After all, the last time Danny had closed his eyes, Rusty had wound up crying and incoherent and trying to claw his own face off. Time before _that _he'd tried to take a swan dive off the balcony. He was such a fuck up.

Thing was, he didn't know why that had happened. In the motel. He remembered Danny falling asleep. He remembered lying in bed, helplessly watching the memories loop over and over in his head, feeling phantom hands on his body, trying to concentrate on the sound of Danny's even breathing, willing the pain to _stop. _The silence had been everywhere and overwhelming, and the next thing he'd been aware of was the cool breeze on his face. The sound of Danny's uneven voice reciting the shift changes at the Bellagio.

He'd looked round slowly. Car. They were driving. There was a stinging pain in his arms and face and, confused, he looked round at the red scratch marks covering his arms and he reached up and touched his face and winced at the pain and the disgrace. He glanced sideways at Danny who was looking at him, the road forgotten. Good thing it was deserted, really. "I - "

" yeah," Danny had agreed quietly.

He'd sagged in his seat, defeat and shame and humiliation rising up in him and he hadn't been able to hide it.

Danny had pulled into the side of the road. "_Rus," _he'd said, pained and Rusty didn't _mean _to pull away from the hand that reached out to stroke his hair. It had just happened before he knew it. And he couldn't take it back.

He lifted up the packet of cigarettes with shaking hands and peeked inside. Ten cigarettes. He wanted the taste. Didn't think it would help any, but it was an itch, a craving, and he remembered Carson's expression when he took the cigarette out of his hand, remembered – could _feel – _the pressure on his hand and the burning on his wrist and he dropped the cigarettes and stared for a long moment at the lighter.

He'd got them at the truck stop. Lifted them from one of the sympathetic bystanders. And he'd wanted the petty revenge and he'd wanted the taste of the cigarettes, and then the lighter had been in his hand and he'd hid it from Danny as quickly as possible.

The truck stop. At least he understood what that had been about. They'd been crossing the parking lot, locked deep into the pretence that everything was fine. He'd been careless. Talking to Danny, fast and bright and reassuring, about the atrocity that was microwave burgers and he'd taken a step, turning round to make his point, and Danny had grabbed his arm and pulled him back, hauling him firmly out of the path of the bus.

That was what Rusty had seen. That was what _some _of Rusty had seen. The rational, reasonable part. The rest of him had seen Felding, coming out of nowhere and seizing his arm. The rest of him had been busy being dragged back down to the little room under the kitchens and pain and no escape.

He hadn't screamed. He'd ran. Wrenched his arm out of Danny's grip and ran and hidden himself in as small a space as he could find – under a lorry, as it happened – and he'd crouched there, hoping against hope that Felding didn't find him, even while the rational part of his mind was screaming at him, telling him that he was being _ridiculous, _that he was safe and that he was running away from _Danny_.

It was like he'd been able to see two worlds. Both dirty and concrete. One silent apart from the sound of Felding's breathing, harsh with excitement and lust and anticipation. The other and he could hear a concerned chorus of voices crowding round, asking if he was okay, asking if they needed any help. And he could hear Danny, calm and reassuring, trying to coax him out.

(_Danny could talk and give no sign that his heart was breaking.) _

Multiple choice reality. Blink and the walls ghosted around him, hemming him in, and he could see the blood spotted on the ground not so very far away, could feel the collar of his jumpsuit rubbing against his neck, and there was no escape, and he was just waiting for Felding to find him. Blink again and he could smell gasoline. Could feel the gravel digging into his hand. Could see the daylight shining from under the edge of the truck. Could see Danny crawling slowly towards him, still talking to him, pleading with him.

Both worlds were real.

In the end he trusted to Danny. Let Danny take his hand. Let Danny lead him out. Let Danny take care of him.

They'd tried to get away as quickly as possible, but they'd been surrounded by grating, avuncular concern. All directed at Danny. No one talked to him. He kept his head down and let them think he didn't understand.

"Poor little guy!"

"You're so good with him!"

"It must be so difficult when he wanders off like that."

"I wouldn't have the patience to look after a … you know...You're a hero, pal, I swear."

He'd squeezed Danny's fingers tightly, silently begging Danny not to say anything and Danny had bit back the furious and the defensive and subsided into silence and gracious smiles. Just another part. Didn't matter what people thought of them.

But it had been something so simple. Danny's hand pulling his arm and he'd been back -

… _Felding grabbed his arm and hauled him into the deserted kitchen. He yelled and punched, scratched, kicked and, as Felding slapped his hand over Rusty's mouth, bit as hard as he could. The hand just gripped tighter. His shouts were muffled and there was no chance of anyone hearing. Still he fought, and Felding picked him up bodily and carried him towards the little door on the far side of the kitchens..._

…_.Felding was standing in front of the stairs. No place to run, no place to hide. He'd managed to get Felding to drop him on the stairs, and he'd rolled down the last half dozen steps and been up and running immediately, but there was nowhere to run to. Couldn't run. Couldn't hide. That left fighting. His hand closed round a broken length of iron piping, corroded and sharp beneath his fingers..._

_...so much pain and it hurt to breathe. Weight pressing down on top of him. A large hand between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground. Pain with every movement. Agony with every thrust. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of the concrete scraping against his hips. Rubbing him raw. Tried to lose himself in that pain, the little pain, and ignore the rest. He couldn't. Didn't work. He shouted and swore and moaned and insulted, and when Felding finally came his hand was tight round Rusty's throat..._

…_.He was running again. His chest hurt. He couldn't stand up straight. Thought maybe a couple of ribs were cracked. And there was an ache of agony, deep inside, and blood and...and blood was trailing down his leg. (Just blood.) But he was running. Hoping that, just for a moment Felding would slip up and Rusty would be able to run past him and up the stairs. He didn't understand; Felding had taken what he wanted. Why was he still here? Why wouldn't he let Rusty go?_

"_Gotta teach you to be good," Felding said softly. "Gotta teach you to be quiet." He stepped forwards and swung the length of piping that he'd taken off Rusty before. He heard the crack as it hit him and the explosion of agony reverbarated through his skull and Felding was on him..._

_...Lying on his back, trying to blink the blood out of his eyes, staring up at Felding standing over him, foot planted firmly on his stomach, and Felding swung the pipe again and again and again, raining down blows, and Rusty couldn't stop the noises of pain, and then the end of the pipe was flat against his collar bone, and Felding was leaning on it, more and more pressure, more and more pain, and he felt the bone give way and the shout was high and incoherent and agony..._

_...The pipe was in front of his face. "You gonna be quiet?" Felding threatened vaguely._

"_F...fuck you," he spat hoarsely._

_Felding grunted in acknowledgement and stepped back for a moment, and then Rusty's legs were being bent impossibly back and impossibly wide, and he was screaming as the metal piping was thrust inside him, fast and hard and vicious, tearing him open, ripping him apart, and the agony corkscrewed through him, vast and unbearable._

_His fingernails gouged deep into the concrete floor and he gasped for breath, shaking with shock and pain and the effort not to move, not to cry, not to make it worse._

"_Every time you make a noise you get another inch," Felding explained softly, and he twisted and it was like a thousand red hot fishhooks deep inside him, destroying him, mutilating him, cruel and perverse and unbearable. _

_The whimper bubbled out of him before he could stop it._

_Felding smiled when he thrust the pipe further, forcing it deeper, fucking him with vicious pain and Rusty bit down on his tongue and he almost managed to keep the scream inside. Almost._

_Felding was already hard. Rusty could feel the blood pooling beneath him._

_Another awful inch._

Overwhelmed by memory, fighting to keep it back, he snatched up the cigarette lighter from thetable he could barely see and struck it hard, bringing the flame up towards his arm.

He stared for a long moment, the fire centimetres from his skin, holding absolutely still, feeling the heat, seeing the hairs on his arm start to shrivel.

With a sudden start of self-disgust, he threw the lighter back onto the table.

He sat statue-still for a long time, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly.

In time he heard Danny walk up behind him. He didn't look up and Danny didn't say anything. After a moment a packet of nicotine patches was dropped on the table beside the cigarettes.

He still didn't say anything.

"Next time you're trying to get someone's attention, try using a method that doesn't involve getting hooked," Danny said with a lightness Rusty knew he didn't feel.

He laughed a little but he pushed the patches away. "I don't need 'em."

"Uh huh," Danny agreed in a tone that was nowhere near agreement.

"I should be able to quit by myself," he insisted. He had before. Back when he was a kid.

Danny sighed. "Not the same. You didn't have so much..." He trailed off pointedly and Rusty knew that really, he was right.

"When do we ever do things the easy way, right?" he asked, turning round to look at Danny with a twist of smile, echoing imaginary Danny's words, the memory still living in his head.

Danny frowned, obviously recognising significance he didn't understand. "Sometimes it's okay to take the easy way."

He caught his breath, thinking about the wood shop and Moffatt telling him that all he had to do to make things easy for himself was to drop to his knees and open his mouth. "Sometimes the price is too high," he said quietly.

There was a long moment and Danny watched him carefully. "Sometimes," he agreed. "This isn't one of them. Let this one thing go, Rus'. Please."

He glanced uneasily down at the table for a second, and then quickly he snatched the lighter off the table and pressed it into Danny's hands. "I'm _sorry," _he said, and Danny stilled. Was only five days since the knife and the bottle of pills and Danny was never going to miss the echo and the significance.

"You hurt?" he asked immediately, urgently, even as the lighter mysteriously disappeared.

Rusty shook his head. "I didn't. But I wanted to."

"Do I need to clear out the room?" Danny asked, and there was nothing in his voice but the practical. No disappointment, no frustration, no reproach. Just the desire to keep Rusty safe.

It was easier to think in terms of the practical. "No," he decided after a moment's thought. They could trust him that far.

"Good," Danny said, and he sat down at the table next to Rusty, his eyes compassionate and concerned and loving and tender.

"I am sorry," he said again.

Danny sighed. "Rusty. It's okay."

"I promised Saul as well, you know that?" he went on. "After the first time. Promised him I wouldn't do it again. And I broke that promise as easy as taking candy from a store."

"The first time?" Danny asked and there was something uncertain in his eyes.

Rusty blinked. "My hand. The mirror."

"Right," Danny said quietly.

He was missing something. "What?"

"No," Danny shook his head firmly. "I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to say anything. Not the time."

"_What?" _Rusty insisted again. He had to know now

Danny sighed again. "I'm sorry, Rus'. The file."

He had no idea what was coming. No idea what Danny was getting at. But he still felt the colour drain from his face.

"There wasn't just pictures," Danny went on with difficulty, like he was trying to fight back an avalanche of pain and emotion. "There was a list of all the times you'd been in the infirmary."

He thought of the sixteen times with Felding, thought about Danny reading the exact details of what had been done to him, and he struggled not to throw up.

"No!" Danny said instantly. "I_ couldn't_ have. There were no details. I just saw the cover sheet. Just read dates. Causes. But the last. Six months ago. All it said was 'self inflicted'."

He shuddered. Danny knowing about _that. _And he remembered the absolute _pleasure_ on Moffatt's face when he'd finally walked into the infirmary, nearly two days after his birthday, and he remembered the disgust and the appalled fascination when he stood in front of the guards and the medical staff, fighting back the pain, fighting back the tears of absolute humiliation.

Moffatt had stood in the office behind the rest, staring through the open door at Rusty, and Rusty was uniquely placed to watch him surreptitiously stroking himself. The doctor had been choking back laughter when he asked him _why. _And Rusty had smiled and sold the lie with complete sincerity. "I like it."

He'd watched across the room and at his words Moffatt had closed his eyes, face reddened, grabbing at the table for support and Rusty could see the familiar strain, the veins standing out on his neck.

He wished Moffatt would just die.

Almost as much as he wished _he _could.

"Rusty!" Danny sounded urgent and Rusty managed to wrench himself back to the present with an effort.

"I told them I did it to myself," he said quietly. "It was better than them thinking I'd let Him do it."

Danny's face was carved from ice. But Rusty could see the furious questions underneath and he watched as Danny took a deep breath and pushed all that aside, leaving only the deep grief and compassion. "You didn't _let _anyone, Rus'," Danny said with complete certainty. "Whatever the bastards did to you it was _never _your fault."

He bit his lip and he knew that Danny wanted to ask about the 'whatever' and about the 'bastards'. "Don't make me tell you," he pleaded.

"I won't," Danny promised heavily, and he stretched out his hand across the table and Rusty clasped it in his.

"The mirror was the first time," he told Danny after a moment.

Danny nodded, trusting him. "They don't make a patch for that," he observed wryly.

Rusty found himself smiling unexpectedly.

Danny looked intently at him. "You know why I wanted to kill Carson?" he asked.

He frowned, and he _knew _why. Knew about the photos and the anger.

"No, I mean the rationale." Danny explained, catching the look.

He shook his head.

Danny smiled sadly. "It was easy," he said simply.

"I'm difficult," Rusty said softly, understandingly. Murdering Carson was so much easier than helping him.

"But you're worth it," Danny told him seriously.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Danny grinned. "Sorry. That's - "

" - L'Oreal," Rusty agreed. He shook his head and picked up the nicotine patches. "One easy thing," he promised, meeting Danny's approving gaze.

* * *

Danny silently carried armfuls of blankets and pillows over to the sofa. Wasn't much of a plan, but his hope was that different would help. Falling asleep in front of the TV. Less threat. Less nightmares. He hoped, anyway. At any rate, he'd been told the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Little things were so complicated. Talking to people. Showering. Sleeping arrangements. They had a double room and Danny was glad of that. It reminded him of the comfort they could always take in each other before, the comfort they could always take for granted. But now, he wouldn't assume and he couldn't ask. So he'd stood in front of the concierge and he'd looked at Rusty, waiting for the silent nod before he asked for the room. And then he got to thinking about the motel and he thought about Rusty lying in silence with only his own thoughts for company, and he thought about the nightmares he'd seen every time Rusty fell asleep, even if it was just in the car, just for a few moments, and he thought about not waking up in time. He thought maybe they had to find new ways of being. Just for the moment.

He dropped the comforter down onto the sofa. Rusty, pushing a half eaten piece of pizza round his plate, looked up at him and blinking, glancing thoughtfully from the blankets to Danny. "We having a slumber party?"

"Something like that," Danny agreed.

"Huh." Rusty smiled slightly. "Good idea." He pushed the plate away at last and curled up on the edge of the sofa.

Danny hesitated, looking at the sofa for a long moment, thinking about all the times when Rusty had flinched away from him because he'd been too close and Rusty's instincts couldn't help but see him as a threat. Different ways of being.

Casually, he settled himself on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, his arm resting on the seat, inches from Rusty. Close, but unthreatening. Just because they'd never have sat like this before didn't mean it couldn't be right.

He reached up to the coffee table, conscious of Rusty watching him but not turning round. "What do you want to watch?" he asked carelessly.

"Whatever you can find," Rusty answered, and there was a smile in his voice, and he took Danny's hand and moved the comforter around so it was covering both of them.

Danny basked in the relief of approval and flicked through the channels quickly. News, soap opera, some kind of wildlife program, somewhere near the beginning of 'There's Something About Mary'...He hesitated for a moment and then he thought of Ted in prison and changed the channel hastily. More news. A woman wearing too much make-up and singing very badly. The opening credits of a movie with cartoon chickens. He paused. Seemed like the best option. He didn't recognise it, but he vaguely remembered it coming out last year. He hadn't seen a lot of movies in the last four years. Hadn't been in the mood. He glanced up at Rusty and got a smile and a shrug of agreement and he leaned his head back against the sofa and Rusty's fingers stroked through his hair and they relaxed, contented and together and _happy._

It lasted less than a minute. Right up until the moment when the chicken got thrown into solitary confinement. Rusty turned away from the TV quickly, pressing his face into the cushion, and Danny turned the TV off.

There was a long silence. "Rus'..." Danny began, and his voice was hesitant and tremulous. "Oh, Rusty, I'm sorry."

"I'm being fucking traumatised by cartoon chickens," Rusty said and his voice was muffled and Danny could still hear the depths of anger and frustration and self-disgust.

"It's not - " he began reassuringly.

" - they don't actually let you take a baseball into solitary, you know that?" Rusty asked, rolling onto his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. "Steve McQueen impressions are strictly forbidden."

Danny's mouth was dry. He hadn't thought of Rusty being in solitary. He didn't _want _to think about Rusty being in solitary. "Why - "

Rusty smiled bitterly. "You'll like this part. Guy groped me in the lunch line. I broke his nose."

He didn't like that. Well, he liked the broken nose but he hated the rest.

"He made me pay for it later," Rusty added with weary vacancy born of inevitability and something howled in Danny's soul. "It was five days. In solitary, I mean. Felt like longer. Every time I closed my eyes the walls got closer. Kept thinking I was going to start screaming and never stop.

Danny thought he was going to start screaming now.

Rusty carried on talking, sounding far away and years distant. "Kept pretending that I thought..." He stopped abruptly. Glanced down at Danny apologetically.

"You pretended I was there," he stated hollowly. He wished he had been.

"I'm glad you weren't," Rusty told him fiercely. He hesitated. "It helped," he added in a whisper. "You always help." Slowly he reached out and took Danny's hand, and Danny squeezed his fingers, grateful for the contact.

"Wasn't just solitary," Rusty said after a while.

"I know," Danny said softly. Rusty should never have been locked up.

"I was always aware of it, you know?" Rusty went on, his voice shaking. "Doors and locks and bars. Not being able to get out. It _hurts,_ Danny."

"We can go anywhere you like, Rus'," he promised again. "Anytime you like. Always. I swear it."

Rusty smiled. "I know. It helps. _You _help. - "

" - Don't you even think about thanking me," Danny warned and Rusty laughed.

"I wasn't," he lied. There was silence and Danny could see Rusty grow serious, could see the questions forming.

"What?" he asked gently.

"What if I don't get better, Danny?" Rusty asked quietly. "What if it's always like this? For the rest of our lives. What if _this _is as good as it gets?"

Danny ran his thumb over Rusty's knuckles. "It won't be," he said confidently. Rusty was going to get better.

"But if it is," Rusty persisted. "If we can't even watch a movie without me freaking out - "

" - then I'll watch the 'My Little Pony' movie with you every day for the rest of our life," Danny promised. "And I'll be _happy."_

For the first time Rusty turned his head and looked at Danny. Then he laughed and slid off the sofa and into Danny's arms, his arms wound round Danny's neck, his head pressed snug against Danny's chest.

"I..." Rusty whispered, and Danny could hear all the unspoken words, all the fear, all the love.

"I know," he whispered back. "I _know._ Me too."

Danny held him close and didn't move until long after they'd fallen asleep.

* * *

**The movie they were watching was 'Chicken Run'. Good film. And the 'My Little Pony Movie' reference was _especially _for InSilva who likes it. **

**Anyway, what did you think of the chapter?**


	3. One week after

**A/N: Yes, this is reposted. So you may or may not have read it. Had to take it down to think about a couple of points, but in the end I didn't actually make any changes.**

**Warning: This chapter features on the list of most unpleasant things I have ever written. **

* * *

**One week later**

There was a hand stroking through his hair and he woke up in a flurry of panic and not-Danny.

Danny wasn't here.

Moffatt was.

Moffatt was sitting next to him, lounging against the headboard, legs stretched out casually, stroking his hair and smiling down at him. His eyes travelled slowly over Rusty's body, lust and heat and possession in his gaze and Rusty wanted to scream, wanted so much to scream but that wasn't allowed and someone might _hear. _He moved as quickly as he could, half trying to hide himself from Moffatt's knowing stare, half trying to push him away, but Moffatt grabbed his wrist easily and pulled a roll of duct tape out of nowhere and Rusty fought desperately, punched at him, scratched at him, and somehow nothing he did seemed to affect Moffatt in the slightest, and all the time _he _was fighting, Moffatt was caressing him, stroking his chest, pinching his thigh, until finally he grabbed Rusty's right hand, planted soft and gentle kisses on each finger, and bound Rusty's wrist to his inner thigh with layers and layers of tape. Rusty's left hand struck Moffatt hard across the face, and Moffatt _smiled _and grabbed it and his tongue flicked gently over the half-healed scars on Rusty's palm, and it _stung _and it _felt _and _where was Danny? _Danny wouldn't have left him. Not with Moffatt. Surely. He could barely breathe when Moffatt wound the tape around his other wrist, and he was bound and helpless and Moffatt's hands glided over his body in total ownership.

"You know," Moffatt began, after a couple of lifetimes had gone by. "If you were anyone else, I'd be putting duct tape over your mouth right now. But I can trust you to be quiet, can't I, my little slut?" He slowly dragged his thumb past Rusty's navel, down and down. "Long as I give you what you need, you'll be good."

"Where's Danny?" he asked, keeping his voice even and indifferent while Moffatt traced cruel circles with his thumbnail.

Moffatt stopped what he was doing momentarily. Stared at him. Then he laughed. "You actually thought that was _real?" _He brought his hand up to Rusty's mouth. Brushed his fingers over his lips. "You think you just spent the last month with your _friends_? Robbing a casino?"

"Three casinos," Rusty said ridiculously, filled with ludicrous doubt. He had. They had. He remembered.

With a sad shake of his head, Moffatt forced his fingers into Rusty's mouth, prying it open as far as he could. In one swift movement he was kneeling on the bed, staring down and there was the sound of a zipper. "You've spent all this time locked in your hotel room, dreaming. That's why I came for you. Remind you what the real world's like." He thrust down. Started fucking Rusty's mouth. Hard and fast and unstoppable. "Fuck I missed this. I missed you. And deep _ugh...so deep..._down, I know you missed me. This is the real world. Fuck. This is...a real man taking you. That's...that's what you want. Why else do you think that you...oh, that's it, yeah...why else do you think that you imagined sharing a bed with Danny? What the fuck do you think you were begging him to do? Fuck. That's it." His jaw ached. The back of his throat was battered and bruising. "You wanted him...wanted him to come inside your mouth, like I'm going to. Wanted...fuck...wanted him to bury himself deep in your ass. Wanted him to...wanted him to treat you like the dirty little slut you are. But guess what? He doesn't want you. I do. Fuck, I do!"

Moffatt's hands grabbed his hair, pulling, twisting tightly and he thrust forwards, and Rusty almost choked on the familiar taste.

Danny. Danny was real, they were back together and he didn't want....he didn't want. He didn't want this.

Sighing, Moffatt climbed off him. "This is what you do. This is what you are. And you really think any of your old friends would want to see you? None of them came near while you were inside, remember?"

He hadn't wanted them to. He'd _never _want anyone to see him like that. Like this.

"You're only good for one thing," Moffatt went on gently. "You know that. I made sure of that. Any of your friends saw you now, they'd know that. And they'd know exactly how to treat you." His hand caressed Rusty's face, forcing Rusty to _see_.

_...The weight of Frank's hand, squeezing the back of his neck, fingernails digging in sharply as he forced his head down on Reuben's lap and he could taste Reuben, could smell his aftershave, could hear the little moans he made when he came and it was bitter salt in his mouth, spilling over his lips, trickling down his chin..._

_...__Livingston, recently sated, running a tongue round his earlobe, rubbing himself idly against his hip while the twins argued raucously over who got to do him next until eventually Basher swore grumpily and threw them the butter and, after a brief scuffle, elbowing each other for the best position, they both slid inside him at the same moment... _

_...Saul...God, Saul on top of him, inside of him, holding him down by the shoulders, fucking him hard and enjoying it, looking him straight in the eyes and telling him with every eager thrust what a disappointment he was, what a failure he was, what a fuck up and it hurt, it hurt so much, and Saul caressed his cheek, a parody of affection, and he begged and begged and Saul wouldn't stop and Saul snorted at him, disgust in his eyes and he felt the gush of warm liquid filling him..._

He whimpered hopelessly and the tears flowed easily. Moffatt clicked his tongue sadly and lovingly brushed them away. "There, there," he said gently. "Would you prefer if it was just me?"

He didn't nod. He _didn't. _But Moffatt smiled tenderly at him anyway. "Just me fucking you," he promised, and Rusty felt an aching stab of gratitude, sudden and overwhelming and he tried so hard to hide it from Moffatt.

"That's it," Moffatt whispered softly. "This is what you are."

Rusty struggled helplessly as he was rolled over onto his front, his hands still bunched beneath him. He thought maybe he was glad that Danny wasn't here. Thought maybe he was glad that Danny wasn't going to see this.

Strong fingers started to massage his back, moving slowly down, kneading his flank, his thighs, his ass, stroking down between his legs, fingers pausing, circling, and then moving forwards with sickening gentleness.

"This good for you?" Moffatt asked solicitously. "This what you wanted Danny to do?"

He choked on the scream and the denials and the tears.

"Such a pity that you can't get it up anymore, isn't it?" Moffatt mused and his fingers squeezed and teased and petted and probed. Rusty bit the side of his mouth hard. It wasn't a pity. It wasn't at all a pity. The fact that Moffatt hadn't managed to get any kind of physical reaction since....(_heat and humiliation and laughter and he'd _cried)....that was the only silver lining in the midst of a hurricane.

"I always think that impotence makes a man less than a man, don't you?" Moffatt went on, and he was lying on top of Rusty now, his mouth trailing down Rusty's back, planting little kisses, his tongue flicking out, tasting, caressing and Rusty fought to stay still, fought to not care. "Still. I don't suppose it exactly _matters _in your case, does it?" His mouth reached the base of Rusty's spine and he paused for a long moment, and Rusty trembled and _wished._ "Look at you. Lying spread open beneath me. All pretty and fuckable. Hardly matters whether you can get it up, does it? It's not what you want. It's not what you need. This is how I like you. Waiting for me to fuck you. _Begging _me to fuck you. Well...." His tongue drifted languorously lower. "We'll get to it."

Moffatt's tongue flicked over, around and _pushed_, and Rusty choked into the pillow as the tongue was forced inside him, probing and ravishing, thrusting in and out, twisting around, and he squirmed, trying to escape obscenity, pushing himself further into the bed, and he felt it all the more, burrowing and nuzzling deep inside him.

He wished it hurt. It would be so much better if it hurt.

"You like this, don't you," Moffatt whispered enticingly, after an age, an eternity, and Rusty could feel his breath, and he tried to wriggle away before Moffatt started again. He didn't like this. He _hated _this. Every time Moffatt did this, the indelible filth stained his soul just that little bit more."See how nice I am to you?" Moffatt's mouth ghosted over him. Teasing and tormenting and he moaned and sank his teeth into his lip until he tasted blood. "Giving you everything you want. Everything you need. Even something like this. Oh, don't worry about me. It's worth it. If it's for you. You're worth it. I'll do _anything _for you. I'm going to keep going till you thank me."

"No!" Rusty gasped, and he wasn't begging, he _wasn't._

"Oh?" He could hear the smile in Moffatt's voice. "You had enough foreplay? You want me to get straight to fucking you? You need my cock inside you? Mmmm. In a while. I like the way you writhe. I like the way you pretend you don't need this."

The tongue plunged back inside him and he squirmed, helpless beneath filth and defilement.

Moffatt's hand was on his shoulder, and for once, somehow, Moffatt must have been careless, because suddenly his hands were free, and he twisted round as quickly as possible, punching hard and fast while surprise was still on his side, and Moffatt fell backwards off the bed, and Rusty launched himself after, ending up on top of Moffatt, astride him, punching down again and again and again.

Choking on a mouthful of blood, Moffatt said his name. Rusty hated him all the more.

He hit out mercilessly and Moffatt was just lying there, taking the beating and talking to him, pleading, begging. Rusty wasn't listening. Didn't matter what Moffatt did or said, didn't even matter that Moffatt was crying. Wasn't going to stop him. Nothing was going to stop him, and then Moffatt reached up, grabbed his wrists, and Rusty froze for a second, and he could see what was going to happen, knew that in just a few moments he'd be flat on his back, Moffatt holding him down, and he _knew _what would happen then, knew....and it wasn't going to.

Viciously he brought his knee up into Moffatt's balls and he laughed with savage glee as Moffatt cried out in obvious agony, and he brought his fist down hard into Moffatt's battered and almost-unrecognisable face.

He punched and punched and he wasn't going to stop. Not until he knew that Moffatt wasn't going to get up. Ever again.

* * *

It didn't matter that Rusty's eyes were open, he was still clearly living a nightmare (_memory_) and it didn't matter _how _often Danny saw that, it still terrified him.

He hadn't woken up soon enough. Not soon enough to be useful. When he woke up, Rusty had been talking, his eyes fixed on something that Danny would never see.

"No....I don't want...it hurts. Please stop. _Please." _

Danny had never heard Rusty beg before.

He'd found himself crying at the sound of it. At the hopeless and the helpless and the pleading.

And he'd called Rusty's name and he hadn't been heard, and he'd shaken Rusty by the shoulder, and Rusty had rolled over, turned onto his front like he'd been forced, and it didn't exactly take a lot of imagination to know what Rusty thought was happening...what _was _happening somewhere in Rusty's mind, somewhere in Rusty's past.

Cold fury and screaming and the taste of horror and none of it was helpful

"It's not real, Rusty," he promised, loud and gentle and desperate. "You can wake up now. _Please_ wake up now. I'm here. You're safe. I promise. I'm here and you're safe and no-one's going to hurt you. Come back to me."

Rusty moaned softly into the pillow and whispered "No!" and the sheer, unmasked misery in the plea nearly killed Danny.

Despite everything common sense told him, despite a week's worth of understanding and new habits, he reached out and laid a gentle hand on Rusty's shoulder. "Wake up," he implored, his voice thick with emotion, and Rusty turned round and punched him.

The pain was immediate and the shock was infinite, and he staggered backwards, slipping off the bed, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor and Rusty was on top of him.

He should have moved faster. Should have reacted quicker. But Rusty was staring straight at him, and there was hatred in his eyes, hatred and fury and revulsion, and Danny had never seen Rusty look like that at _anyone _before and he hadn't been able to look away, hadn't been able to think of anything but the hate, and then Rusty was hitting him again and again and again, and he wasn't able to do anything.

"Rusty," he said through a mouthful of blood, and his breath caught at the apocalyptical, frenzied heat in Rusty's eyes, and the pain came faster and angrier.

It had been a long time since Danny had taken a beating like this. A long time. Six years ago and more, a warm night in New York, and he'd been set-up. And that time, in the end, Rusty had ran in and saved him.

That wasn't going to happen this time.

He gazed up into Rusty's eyes, even as he stumbled through words of comfort and reassurance, even as he tried to tell Rusty exactly who he was, who they were. There was no hint of recognition in Rusty's eyes. Rusty wasn't going to stop until whoever he was seeing was dead.

Danny couldn't let Rusty kill him. Leaving alone the fact that he didn't want to die, Rusty would never survive knowing he'd killed Danny. But he didn't want to hurt Rusty. He _couldn't _hurt Rusty, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that he reached up and grabbed Rusty's wrists, holding them tightly and he couldn't bear the instant shock of cold and terror. "Rus', you need to stop," he said firmly, pleadingly. "It's me, it's Danny, you - "

Pain.

Sudden and extreme and agony, and it was all he could think of, and he tried to curl up, tried to roll away, but he couldn't, Rusty's weight was still holding him down, and Rusty was _laughing, _gleeful and sharp and inhuman, laughing like Danny's pain was everything he wanted, and the next punch caught him between the eyes and it echoed through his skull and he couldn't think and he couldn't stand it and he couldn't stop it.

He gasped and his vision was blurry and blood was trickling down into his eyes, and he was _losing._ Losing _Rusty. _

It was a last act of desperation that had him punching, hitting Rusty and hoping that Rusty could forgive him, hoping Rusty could forgive himself, and Rusty reeled backwards for a moment, and then an elbow was driven into Danny's stomach, and Danny lost track of everything but the pain of breathing and Rusty's hand closed tightly in his hair and Rusty wrenched Danny's head up and slammed it against the floor as hard as possible. Once. And twice. And again. And again.

Darkness was creeping up on him.

* * *

Moffatt was growing weak beneath him and Rusty was alive with fierce joy. Blood dripped into his eyes and impatiently he wiped it away with his t-shirt sleeve.

His t-shirt sleeve....

He'd been naked.

He wasn't naked now.

There was no duct tape.

And he didn't hurt where Moffatt had fucked his mouth.

And Moffatt couldn't be here.

Slowly he looked down at horror and he was helpless to stop the little noises of agony and denial that crept through him.

* * *

Rusty was looking at _him. _Rusty knew who he was. And despite the terror in Rusty's eyes, despite the guilt, despite the pain, despite the incipient darkness, Danny found himself smiling.

"Rus'," he slurred happily, and the misery in Rusty hurt and he reached up a trembling hand to Rusty's tear-stained face. "'S'okay. I promise. 'S'okay."

His eyes drifted shut and he couldn't help it.

* * *

He had done this. He had hit Danny. He had hurt Danny. He had tried to kill Danny. He had done this.

The scream ripped through his soul, agony overwhelming, guilt absolute.

He stared down at bloodied, swollen, broken flesh, and Danny's eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged, and even unconscious his face was creased with pain.

He had done this.

He had done this and it was finally more than he could bear. He died inside.

He buried himself in the moment and the practical.

* * *

Pain and Danny was barely awake, barely aware of lying on the bed, barely aware of his clothes being efficiently removed, of injuries being methodically inspected, and he blinked at the Rusty-blur and an overwhelming sense of pride surprised him. His eyes closed again and the next thing he was aware of was coolness and comfort. "Rus'," he murmured and he reached up painfully and his fingers closed over the hand holding the compress to his head. "Rus," he said again, and he was happy.

* * *

The next time he woke up agony and ache were jostling for his attention. His hand was being held and he turned his head and opened his eyes and the light was bright and blinding and a wave of pain and sickness swept through him. "Rusty!" he pleaded urgently and an instant later Rusty's arm was around him and he was being helped to sit up and Rusty was holding a basin and rubbing his back as he threw up miserably, and his chest burned and his stomach twisted with the effort.

"You've got a concussion," Rusty told him softly.

He nodded wretchedly and his head was pounding.

A pause and a cool glass of water was held to his lips and then four pills in succession and he swallowed obediently.

"Should help with the pain and the nausea," Rusty murmured, and there was so much apology in his voice and Danny smiled and tried to look reassuring and there was something else nagging at the back of his mind.

"Where...?" was all he managed. Fortunately Rusty understood.

"Bribed the room service guy to run out to the drugstore," he explained. "Don't worry. You can count the pills when you're feeling better."

He sighed and Rusty caught his hand in his. "I'm sorry, Danny," he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. "I'm so sorry."

Danny lay back down and pulled Rusty into bed with him.

"I thought you were _Him," _Rusty added, so very far away, so very anguished, so very terrified, and Danny fought so hard to think, fought so hard to stay awake.

Fought and lost.

* * *

A constant stream of pain and light and noise and pills and water and more pain and he couldn't think and he couldn't remember what had happened.

His head was throbbing, a constant knife stabbing through his skull and his thoughts were sluggish and unmanageable, like his mind was stuffed with steel wool. There was a dull ache through his body, like every inch of him was covered with injuries that screamed with every movement.

Rusty was there though, so he wasn't frightened. Wasn't alone. Felt like Rusty hadn't been here for a long time. Like he'd been alone for years and years. Like he wanted to hold Rusty close and never, ever let go.

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled up at Rusty, holding a damp towel to his forehead, and he was reassured, overjoyed just by Rusty's presence. He frowned, sudden knowledge and worry piercing through the fog that was drowning his brain. There was a cut on Rusty's forehead. A nasty-looking lump just above his eyebrow. And he didn't remember who and he didn't remember how but whoever had got him had hurt Rusty and that was always so much worse.

"Your head," he said muzzily, reaching a hand up to Rusty's face.

Rusty stared and ducked out of his reach.

He blinked stupidly. "Rus'...?" he asked uncertainly, not understanding, and then he pushed on with his single train of thought. "You hurt anywhere else?"

Rusty shook his head mutely and Danny breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don' remember," he complained unhappily. "We safe?"

"We are," Rusty said and there was a catch in his voice, a choked sob and Danny heard and hated and didn't understand at all. "You will be. I promise."

Troubled, he gazed up at Rusty, and there were tears in Rusty's eyes, but then Rusty was holding a glass of water to his lips and helping him drink and lying him back down, and he held Rusty's hand tightly and he couldn't remember exactly what he'd been worrying about and closing his eyes seemed easy and inevitable.

* * *

It was barely light and he drifted and somewhere in the distance he heard a phone ringing and then Rusty talking.

"Hey, Saul..." Rusty said and there was something in his voice, just for a second, some tremor of pain and hesitation. "No, nothing's wrong. Yeah...yeah, guess we just forgot....You want me to phone you back when I've come up with a better one? ...Nah....I know you don't.....Honestly, I'm fine. _We're _fine. I'm just tired....Been sleeping some....Yeah, I know.....So where are.....Really? Huh. What sort of.....Mmmm. Sea view, I take it? …..Don't think we'll be coming by anytime soon, Saul. It...it might be a while. ...Yes....Yes, I will. I promise....Gotta go now, Saul. Bye."

"He doesn't like you lying to him," Danny croaked and instantly Rusty was there, pressing a glass of water to his lips.

"He doesn't like me lying badly to him. How're you feeling?" Rusty asked intently.

He considered. The pain was down to a bearable agony and his head felt pretty clear. "Better," he decided. Unlikely he was going to be moving fast or far anytime soon, but definitely better. "How's Saul?"

Rusty shrugged and sat down on the chair beside the bed. "Worried," he said. "We missed a coupla check-ins."

Oh. He blinked. "It's tomorrow?"

"Uh huh," Rusty agreed. "We'll call that one for one. You know who's president?"

"Unless there was an election yesterday." He nodded cautiously and his head didn't fall off.

"Two for two," Rusty noted. "You know who beat you up?" The lightness in his voice could scratch diamonds.

He sighed. "_Rus - "_

" - Three for three," Rusty nodded brightly.

"Look at me," he ordered softly and he waited until Rusty met his gaze. "It wasn't your fault."

Rusty shook his head.

"It was not your fault," he said again.

"It sure as fuck wasn't yours," Rusty answered furiously.

"No," Danny agreed calmly, wincing slightly as he tried to sit up and Rusty was there, helping him immediately. Danny took his hand and looked him in the eyes. "It wasn't my fault. It wasn't your fault. It was his. All him. The..._bastard_...you thought I was. The bastard you were trying to protect yourself from."

Rusty's eyes skimmed over Danny's face, across injury, across evidence of fury and violence. "That's not about protection," he said softly. "I wanted Him dead. You."

There was a significance, a deeper meaning to the way Rusty said 'Him'. Danny heard it every time and he hated it. Hated the fear and the influence it spoke of.

"You _never _wanted me dead, Rus'," he said fiercely. "I _know _that." And if Rusty wanted the unknown Him dead...well, so did Danny.

And he thought about Rusty curled up and crying and hurting himself and he thought about Rusty fighting back, and he knew which he preferred. He knew which he'd always prefer.

Hell, a straight-forward choice between Rusty hurting himself and Rusty hurting Danny was no kind of choice at all, and if he'd thought it would help – even a little, even for a moment – he'd have offered himself to Rusty as a punching-bag a long time ago.

With a start of guilt he saw the horror in Rusty's eyes and realised he hadn't managed to hide his thoughts.

"It wasn't your fault," Rusty whispered.

He frowned. "I know that." He'd said it.

"Not this." Rusty shook his head and his fingers rubbed round his mouth. "The other...Everything Carson said is a lie. You know that, right?"

He stared down at his hands for a long moment and he thought about Carson's voice. '_I wasn't the one he got arrested for. I wasn't the one who let him – who let my 'friend' – take the fall for what I'd done. You never even tried to save him, did you Danny? Did you?' _It wasn't a lie. Not all of it. Not entirely. "I don't wanna talk about that, Rus'," he said softly. He needed to be strong. He needed to hold it together. And he couldn't do that if he thought about his role in the chain of events that brought them here.

Rusty looked troubled. "Danny - "

" - _please," _he interrupted apologetically.

Rusty sighed and subsided. "Painkillers?" he offered.

"Yeah," Danny agreed with a wince, and took them.

"TV?" Rusty suggested further.

"What's on?" he checked.

"This time of day?" Rusty shrugged. "Cartoons and cooking shows."

Danny brightened.

Rusty sighed. "Why did I bother asking?" he wondered, switching on the TV in time to hear Pinky go "Narf."

He grinned. "Anything that keeps you from trying to make soufflé," he told Rusty severely.

They watched the cartoon for a while and Danny wasn't going to ask and he wasn't going to hint and he certainly wasn't going to insist....but he was so happy when Rusty looked at him and smiled and carefully crept into bed beside him.

* * *

He spent the rest of the day in bed, and most of it dozing with his head on Rusty's shoulder. Only a couple of times did he wake up and see Rusty staring at the TV a little too hard, mind and body aching with tension and Danny had sighed and rolled away, as if in his sleep, until Rusty managed to calm himself down, until Rusty sought him out again, holding and comforting and apologising.

And the day passed in a haze of pain and painkillers, TV and juice, and Rusty. Always Rusty. Above everything, Rusty. And that wasn't so bad. Hell, in a twisted sort of way that would probably make almost anyone else re-evaluate his life-choices, it even felt normal. Except for the part where he saw the murderous, bitter hatred on Rusty's face every time he closed his eyes. But he was keeping that part very quiet. Doing his best to forget it, to pretend it didn't even exist. He just held Rusty a little tighter and told himself it would fade with time.

The next day, with Rusty's help, he managed to walk between the bed and the sofa easily enough. And maybe they weren't talking about anything important, but they were meandering through a discussion on the proper ways to cook a road runner, and whether there was any future in rocket-powered boots, and the question of exactly _why _soufflé shouldn't be barbecued, and the number of astounding things that could be done with a lightbulb if you really put your mind to it. They were together and Danny was confident that was what mattered in the end.

Later, and Rusty ran him a bath with a truly frightening amount of bubbles. Danny had to guess there was at least a whole bottle of mixture in there.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed to remove his socks and looked up at Rusty, leaning with desperate, forced, casualness against the sink.

"I can stay," Rusty told him quickly and his fists were clenched tightly, pressed hard into his sides.

Danny reflected that there was a considerable difference between being comfortable with someone naked while they were hurt and unconscious and it was necessary, than when they were awake and almost recovered and it was merely convenient. "You don't have to," he told Rusty quietly.

Rusty's expression didn't change. "I can."

"I don't need you to," Danny said simply and Rusty sighed and turned away and walked out of the bathroom. "I promise not to drown," Danny called lightly, and he heard the quiet laughter from the living room.

The bath was relaxing, and afterwards he dozed on the sofa for a while, and then later still, Rusty had a long and expensive conversation with his new-found friend in room service and soon they had Chinese food and a wide and surprising selection of DVDs and the evening passed with Dim Sum and 'Austin Powers' and 'Dogma' and 'Shrek' and Danny leaned back on the sofa and watched Rusty, perched cross-legged on the edge of the bed and laughing uproariously, and he felt a little better.

* * *

The third day and he woke up to see Rusty propped up on one elbow, watching him sleep. "Morning," he said brightly.

Danny glanced with sleepy suspicion at the sunshine blazing through the curtains. "You sure?"

Rusty grinned. "More or less. Wanted to let you sleep. Figured you needed it." The smile dipped a little.

"Right," he nodded, eager to keep everything light, just for a little while longer. "Because I'm not as young as I was."

"Who is?" Rusty wondered.

Danny thought for a moment. "Dorian Gray," he said decidedly and Rusty laughed.

They dressed at a leisurely pace and wandered out into the wide world. Somehow, breakfast was missed out altogether in favour of having lunch in the café in the park, and coffee and milkshake went together with omelette and some kind of complicated fried pastry that Danny absolutely refused to try, and they talked about nothing in particular. Places they had been. Movies they had seen. Life.

The sun shone through the afternoon, and they walked beneath the trees and Rusty bought them ice cream, and they talked about old memories and old adventures and old friends.

Later on, when it got dark, Rusty led them to a restaurant with a three week waiting list for reservations, and they sat at their private table and drank the best wine and ate the best food, and they talked – indirectly – about love and friendship.

After dinner, Rusty smiled at him. "There's a cinema round the corner showing a Humphrey Bogart marathon," he said enticingly, and Danny smiled in delighted anticipation.

Seemed as though the cinema owner had been expecting them. Certainly, he shook Rusty by the hand several times and led them to the best seats in the house personally, bringing them popcorn and hotdogs and anything else they could want.

When they were finally alone, Danny leaned over. "Why do I get the impression that man may not have known he was showing a Humphrey Bogart marathon yesterday?" he murmured.

Rusty's eyes were fixed on the trailers. "Can you think of a better way of spending Terry's money?" he asked.

Danny couldn't, if he was being honest. But... "How much of today is about apologising?" he whispered.

Rusty eyes flickered sideways and he took Danny's hand. "Don't spoil it?" he asked softly. "Please."

He sighed and wanted to say again that it wasn't Rusty's fault. "I've had a perfect day," he said instead.

Rusty's smile was sudden and brilliant and miraculous and when Danny turned and focussed on 'The Big Sleep', there were tears in his eyes.

It was late when they got home, and he was still talking happily about the ending of 'The Two Mrs Carrolls' and Rusty was listening to him and laughing and all was well.

"Drink?" Rusty suggested pausing in front of the minibar.

"Yeah," he agreed cheerfully, sinking down onto the sofa. The day might have been perfect, but it had also been long. "What you wanna do tomorrow?"

Ice clinked into glasses, and Rusty shrugged. "Haven't thought."

"You said Saul was worried. Maybe we should think about - "

" - no!" Rusty said, quickly and vehemently and he covered up the moment by passing Danny a drink.

Danny frowned. "You don't want to see - "

" - not right now," Rusty said firmly. "No."

There was something in Rusty's eyes, and Danny sipped at the whiskey and he knew not to push too far. Just sometimes he wondered how far too far was. He took another few sips and pulled a face. "Kind of bitter," he complained.

Rusty shrugged and glanced at the bottle. "Cheap brand," he noted, and he bounced down onto the end of the bed. "That's the mistake everyone makes, you know. They try to keep costs down by buying cheap and they lose out on happy customers."

Danny laughed. "And you know so much about the hotel business," he teased, stifling a yawn.

"I've stayed in enough," Rusty pointed out. "Look at Benedict's place. You honestly telling me a man making that kind of money couldn't have shelled out for nicer towels?"

He laughed again and listened to Rusty listing off Benedict's failings. After a moment he found his eyes drifting shut, his mind unaccountably heavy and it was only with great effort that he managed to jerk himself awake.

Rusty had stopped talking. Rusty was watching him. And there was something in Rusty's eyes...guilt and apology and heartbroken determination.

He stared down at the empty glass and it slipped out of his suddenly nerveless hand. "_No," _he whispered.

"Danny," Rusty started, and it was like Danny was hearing him through a wind tunnel.

Clumsily he staggered to his feet. "You drugged me," he said, and he managed to take a few steps forwards before he found himself sinking to the floor, unable to stand anymore and his body wouldn't respond, and he had to fight this, he just had to.

"It's not like that, Danny, I'm sorry," Rusty told him miserably, and then, somehow, time had skipped a little and Rusty was kneeling in front of him, picking him up off the floor. "You weren't supposed to notice. You were just supposed to fall asleep and - "

" - you'd be gone when I woke up?" His soul was howling. And he knew all the possible meanings of 'gone.'

Rusty paused. "I was going to leave a note," he said softly, lying Danny down on the bed, pulling his shoes off.

An inarticulate cry and with superhuman effort he managed to sit up a little, managed to grab Rusty's shirt. "No! Rus', please, no. Please. Please." It seemed to be all he could manage to say.

"Not that kind of note," Rusty told him quickly. "Not...I promise, Danny, that's not why I'm doing this."

"Why?" he asked, and the tears were running down his face.

"It's better. You can't...It's _better. _We both know...." Rusty shook his head and he was crying too. "It's not meant to be like this, Danny. We're not meant to be like this. But I swear I'm not going to hurt myself." He looked Danny straight in the eyes. "I _promise _you I won't."

Danny sobbed incoherently. "Rus'..."

"I'm just going away," Rusty went on, swallowing determinedly. "_Please _don't look for me. It's for the best."

"Don't leave," Danny begged hoarsely. "Please don't leave me."

Rusty straightened him up and covered him with the blanket. "Goodbye, Danny. I...I...." Danny could see him struggling. Finally he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Goodbye, Danny."

The words were whispered. The words were final.

Danny was unconscious before he heard the door close.


	4. Two weeks after part 1

**A/N: Right. Okay. So I have a plan and a post-it note, and this is good. And my plan clearly says that there are 12 chapters to this. And in one, deep and meaningful sense, this remains precisely true. However, in a more literal sense, a more ffnet approved sense, it is now nonsense. This is the first part of chapter 4. Which will be 3 parts long. All of which are written, so you won't need to wait more than a couple of days for the next bit, before you say anything. But there was just too much in there for me to be happy with it being all one block. Sorry about that. And yes, the post-it note lasted precisely two chapters before the whole organisation thing fell to pieces. The mockery may commence.**

**A/N 2: InSilva has, as always, been unbelievably and almost unreasonably helpful and reassuring. And I'm not just saying that because I know the most likely source of mockery...  
**

* * *

_Two weeks after_

The tatty 'Do Not Disturb' sign hung on the door with the peeling paint. Apparently, according the the incurious hotel staff, it had hung there for nearly four days. And, obediently, they'd stayed away.

Danny's heart was in his mouth when he knocked, and the sound echoed for a lifetime in the still corridor.

There was no answer. No hint that anyone (_living) _was in the room.

Slowly, he pulled the keycard out of his pocket. He'd acquired it from reception when the concierge wasn't looking. It should open any door. So there was absolutely no reason for hesitation and reluctance. He swallowed hard and the door opened when he pushed.

The room was dark, stuffy and tomb-like. He squinted into the gloom and he could just make tout the bed. Could just make out the shape of Rusty lying in it, his face turned towards the door, absolutely still and unmoving. Hie eyes stared, unseeing and unknowing through Danny. Danny might as well not be there.

Biting his lip he crept a little closer.

"So," he said, looking down at vacant and passive and lifeless and his voice was too loud in the silence, but he'd had to say something, had to do something. "I'm gonna assume that you developed a sudden fondness for tulips and windmills, huh."

* * *

_Four Days Earlier..._

Danny woke up in a flurry of pain and no Rusty. His head was pounding but he dragged himself out of bed immediately, frantically searching through the room, desperately hoping, praying, that Rusty might have changed his mind. That Rusty might have stayed with him. But there was no sign. Unsurprisingly. If Rusty had stayed, Danny wouldn't have woken up alone.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will away the pain, the grief, the shock and anger. Rusty was gone. Rusty was _gone _and Danny had to find him.

There was a phone lying in the middle of the table next to a note and a small bottle. The remains of whatever Rusty had used to drug him, Danny would guess. And he got what the gesture was supposed to mean. Rusty giving up a means to hurt himself. It was supposed to be reassuring. But it wasn't. It was an unneeded reminder that they couldn't trust Rusty.

He touched the cellphone hesitantly and wondered if it was a good sign that Rusty had abandoned that too. That, maybe, Rusty hadn't trusted himself not to answer the phone if Danny rang. Maybe. Maybe.

At last, finally, soul filled with a dread that he was never, ever going to name, he turned his attention to the note. It was short. To the point. Tear-stained.

_Please don't look for me._

_I promise I'm not going to hurt myself._

_I'm sorry, Danny. I never want to hurt you._

Danny stared at the words for a long time, his thumb tracing over the paper slowly. At last, he folded the note in two and tucked it carefully into his pocket.

It wasn't until he got down to reception that he actually took a moment to glance at his watch. Three in the afternoon. He'd been asleep for fourteen hours. Which meant Rusty had a fourteen hour head start. God.

The receptionist was staring at him. Or, rather, his face. Right. Yeah. He put a hand up to the fading bruises and grinned self-consciously. "Don't ever play a game of one-on-one with a drunk marine," he advised her, seriously. "At least, not without checking whether his kid's dropped his marbles on the court."

She blinked and laughed slightly and he smiled charmingly and leaned on the desk hopefully. "So, I was wondering if you could help me," he began, and she looked like she'd really like to. "Do you happen to know if you ordered a taxi for my friend last night? Some time after one. A blond man. My height. Thin." He could trust that Rusty wouldn't be driving anywhere soon. A taxi would be most likely.

"Well, I wasn't working, but I can certainly check for you." She frowned down at her book for a moment. "There was a taxi booked to the station then, though there doesn't seem to be a name given. That's odd...Do you think that could be it?"

"I imagine so," he agreed. "Thank you." It made sense. The station Rusty would want to leave town as soon as possible.

Didn't matter. There was no place that Rusty could go that Danny wouldn't follow. No place at all.

* * *

The moment that the door shut behind him, Rusty was fighting the urge – need – to run back inside. He knew why he was doing this, knew why he _had _to do this - and the memory of Danny bruised and bloodied and battered and smiling up at him swam in front of his eyes, just in case he could somehow, ever forget – but it was still so difficult.

He was leaving Danny behind. Leaving Danny behind unconscious and helpless and vulnerable and that terrified him, and he had to remind himself that he'd thought about this. He'd had a couple of days, after all, of thinking and planning and he knew that really, rationally, logically, Danny was in no danger. Nothing would happen. Danny would sleep for at least the rest of the night, and probably most of the next day, then he'd wake up safe and sound and the very worst he would experience would be a slight headache.

He stared unblinkingly at the elevator call button and his eyes were burning and he couldn't make himself believe. The very worst Danny would experience would be when he woke up and realised Rusty was gone for good. The very worst had been when Danny had realised that Rusty had betrayed him again. When he'd begged and pleaded with Rusty not to leave and Rusty hadn't listened. When Danny had seen Rusty trying to kill him.

The elevator arrived and he stepped inside. No, he was right to get out of here. He was right to run. All he was doing was hurting Danny. He'd tried to kill Danny and he couldn't promise that it wouldn't happen again, so he _had _to leave. There was no other choice.

A few minutes later he stepped out into reception and he smiled at the man behind the desk and quietly ordered a taxi. Briefly, he considered leaving a message for Danny. But what could he possibly say that he hadn't said already?

He was doing this for Danny and that was all that mattered.

From the taxi, he stared blindly out at the rain and his fingers drummed urgently against the window until the driver grumpily told him to stop.

* * *

It took a few hours work, an air of mystery and a flash of a fraudulent detective badge to get Danny access to the information he needed. He sipped at a paper cup of scalding hot coffee and stared at the security camera footage of the ticket machines, watching a grainy and endless procession of times and people until, finally, he caught a glimpse of Rusty. He froze the image. Naturally. Rusty looked exhausted and drained but determined. Obviously he was convinced that he was doing the right thing. Danny knew he wasn't. Most importantly, nineteen hours ago, Rusty had been alive and unhurt, and Danny clung to that fact as tightly as he could.

A little more charm and a hint of implacable determination and he was scanning through transaction records, matching the time to the ticket sold. Looked like Rusty had bought a ticket to Atlanta. Which made sense. Danny thought, anyway. A big city, easy enough for Rusty to lose himself in. Not so distant that the train journey would be more than Rusty could cope with. He thought about Rusty, hoping he could cope without any painful incidents, and Danny couldn't bear to think about what could happen, what the consequences could be. He thought again about the truck stop and it had hurt Rusty to be seen like that.

He was biting hard at his lip as he searched further and later through the security footage, convincing himself that Rusty had indeed got on the train and not doubled back.

Right. He smiled distantly at the station staff as he left, already planning his next move. He'd get to Atlanta, get into the security footage in the station there, and find out where Rusty had gone. Taxi would be a safe first bet, he thought, and that was good. There'd be a driver, and maybe there'd be a record, and maybe Rusty would be remembered, and Danny _would _find him.

And what then?

He didn't know what he was going to say to Rusty. Not like he had some magic combination of words that would make everything better. He rubbed at his aching temples, and he was fully conscious of the fact that beneath the frantic, miserable worry, there was a white hot rage burning. It would never occur to him to be angry at Rusty for hitting him. That hadn't been Rusty's fault. But _this..._Drugging him and abandoning him. Taking the choice away from him. Oh, Danny was angry about that. In fact, he hadn't felt this angry since... (_an interview room with concrete walls. Rusty handcuffed and smiling carelessly at him, like nothing mattered. Him, walking away.)_

He choked back angry tears. That wasn't going to happen again. That was _never _going to happen again. He'd learnt his lesson, even if Rusty hadn't.

No. He'd find Rusty and they'd find some way of talking about this. He'd find something to say, something that would absolutely _prove _to Rusty that he had to stay.

In the end, it was for nothing. Once he got to Atlanta, the security tapes showed that Rusty had never been there. He didn't get off the train.

* * *

Rusty sat, hunched deep in the train seat, and stared out of the window, counting telegraph poles.

(_Danny would look for him. Danny wouldn't look for him. Danny would look for him. Danny wouldn't look for him.)_

With any luck, in an ideal world, Danny would wake up in twelve hours or so, read his note, realise that Rusty was _right, _and would move on with his life.

Rusty didn't live in an ideal world.

(_Danny would look for him.)_

Two hundred and forty one telegraph poles later and he still couldn't stop thinking. Two hundred and forty one. And, on average, telegraph poles were spaced one hundred and twenty five feet apart. There were five thousand two hundred and eighty feet in a mile. And that meant there were forty two telegraph poles per mile. And _that _meant he'd only gone about five and a half miles. Not long enough. Not nearly long enough. Still so close to Danny. His fingers were curled tightly into his palms and all he could see was Danny, hurt and frightened of, for, by, _because _of him. He'd done this, this was all his fault. No matter what Danny said, this was all his fault. Moffatt hadn't been involved. Moffatt hadn't been there. Just him. All him.

_(Danny wouldn't look for him.)_

He stumbled off the train the first time it stopped, after barely ten minutes. With any luck, even if he was looking for Rusty, Danny would give up when he couldn't find him in Atlanta.

(_Danny would look for him.)_

Somehow he found a taxi and when he opened his mouth to ask the driver to take him to the airport he tasted blood. He'd bit his lip somehow at some point, torn at it till the blood flowed. The taxi driver was garrulous and sympathetic and shoved a wad of tissues at him and for a second Rusty was lost in the contempt in Carson's eyes, and it was only with the greatest effort that he dragged himself back. The present. There was nothing more than the present, and he sat absolutely still and gave distant, drifting answers to the driver's cheerful chatter, and he read each and every street sign, focussed on the now and the trivial, and tried to banish thought.

(_Danny would look for him. Danny wouldn't look for him. Danny would look for him. Danny wouldn't look for him...Danny...Danny...)_

_

* * *

_

The sight of the blood on Rusty's face had a way of making all Danny's anger wither and die. He had stared at the security footage. Blood on Rusty's mouth. And Rusty didn't seem to have noticed. Danny wanted to believe that the blankness in Rusty's eyes was just a trick of the light.

He'd been lucky, really. Lucky that Rusty had chosen to get off at the first station. After all, if he'd had to check each and every stop down the line, well. It could've taken a very long time. Even as it was, Rusty was now a day and a half ahead.

Still. He had managed to make out the number of the taxi that Rusty had got into, and it didn't take _that _long to track it down. And he was glad that the driver had remembered Rusty, remembered taking him to the airport. Just that he wished the conversation hadn't had so many undertones of _'He shouldn't be allowed out on his own.' _Even if Danny knew.

Rusty's phone rang while Danny had been working his way through the airport, making enquiries. He was hopeful, for a moment. Hopeful that Rusty was calling him, that Rusty was ready to come back to him. Instead, he found himself staring down at Saul's number. Oh. He let it ring out. It wasn't time to have that conversation. Not yet. Not ever, if he could help it, and he waited until his own phone had rung out as well and tried not to imagine how frantic Saul would be. They could apologise later. They would.

He wandered the airport some more, and he worried. Honestly, he wasn't sure he liked the idea of Rusty in a plane. Too close. Too constricting. Neither of them had said it, but he'd thought that was why they were driving everywhere. It didn't quite make sense, and even as he charmed his way into places and information he had absolutely no right to, part of him was always wondering.

In the end, a smiling and hopeful brunette told him that Rusty had bought a ticket to Los Angeles.

Huh. Really, that made even more sense than Atlanta. Big city again, but Rusty knew LA. Rusty _liked _LA. And Rusty had contacts in LA. A safer place to run to. The sort of place that Rusty would go if he really was planning on building a new, Danny-free life.

So why was he uneasy?

* * *

By the time the plane landed in LA, Rusty felt like the world was in slow motion. He couldn't think and he didn't want to, and he drifted along like the world was a dream he was frightened to wake up from.

The flight hadn't made anything better. From the moment the door had slammed shut, part of him had been screaming that he needed to get out of here now, please, right now. He'd spent the whole flight with his knuckles white, gripping the arm rests painfully, forcing everything to stay inside and be invisible, and slowly he was drowning.

He walked through the airport and then, somehow, through the city and there were too many people, too much light, too much noise, and bit by bit, he cut off every part of himself that was hurting and screaming, and by the time he was standing in front of Lenny Karowitz, quiet and meek, withdrawn and asking-for-a-favour, there was barely any of him left to hurt as Lenny sneered and mocked and patronised and insulted. Rusty smiled listlessly and said 'please' nicely and gave him the money, and the anger and blame and contempt and vitriol rained down and with every reaction he didn't get, Lenny enjoyed himself a little more. Eventually, Lenny evidently felt that he'd proved his dominance enough, and when Rusty finally left he had a name and a New York phone number.

He was back to the airport and on a flight to New York before he knew it and there was dark water closing over his head.

* * *

The revelation hit Danny hard, just as he was in the midst of drifting off to sleep, curled on a bench in the departure lounge. He sat bolt upright and his sudden gasp drew a few curious stares. He ignored them. Oh, he'd been so _stupid. _Thinking about this in exactly the wrong way.

LA was wrong. Well, not wrong, that was where Rusty was going – but it wasn't where Rusty was staying. Because Rusty wasn't running _to _anywhere, Rusty was running _from. _Running from him. And that meant...he swallowed hard. That meant that Rusty would feel the need to go a lot further. Out of the country at the very least. And _that _meant that Rusty would need a passport. Rusty was fresh out of prison, after all. He didn't have any.

Danny was in a dream as his flight was called, and he sleep-walked into the plane and spent the whole flight compiling lists in his head. Everyone he could think of who Rusty might have gone to, starting in the Los Angeles area. He came up with about a dozen plausibles, and as soon as the plane landed he started making phone calls.

Thing was, he'd spent a year now making it perfectly clear that he never wanted to hear anything about Rusty ever again. And, clearly, the gossip network was a month or so behind. He was asking about Rusty and at every turn he was met with confusion and hesitation and even, occasionally, suspicion. It hurt. Hearing people – people he _knew, _people they _liked – _wondering why he wanted to know anything about Rusty...it was wrong. It was painful. And after two hours of phone calls, having exhausted every one he could think of, he was no further forwards. No one had heard from Rusty in a very long time.

He sat by the window and stared blankly straight ahead. He was nowhere. No more ideas. And Rusty had been gone for over two days. Rusty could be anywhere. (_Rusty could be nowhere.)_

_

* * *

_

Leland Chambers, Lenny's contact, was efficient and entirely incurious. The phone call was curt, the drop-off of the photo and half the money was brief and the exchange of the rest of the money for the passport went as smoothly as he could expect. And not once did Leland so much as look at him. Which was just as well. He was fading fast, he could feel it, and he didn't think he could deal with any kind of scrutiny.

New passport in his pocket, he drifted, ghost-like, through the airport and stared up at the international departures board. He had to get far away. Far away from Danny.

Cities and plans and memories swam before his eyes. London, and he remembered the last time he'd been there, with Basher, and he remembered Tess' call and he remembered how, such a short time later, he'd been in handcuffs, kneeling on the floor while Carson raged angrily around him, demanding answers and explanations that he wasn't going to give. Not London. Mexico City, and he remembered Saul's expression when he'd explained the rain of frogs, and he remembered Saul's expression when he'd held Rusty down and told him what a disappointment he was, what a disappointment he'd always been, and how weak he was to let Moffatt...to let _all _of them. He took a shaky breath. Not Mexico. Paris and Tokyo and Florence and Seville and Rome, and he remembered Danny. So many memories. Danny and him, happy and together and thinking it was forever. No. Definitely not. Amsterdam. He considered. He'd been there before, on his own, six years or so ago. No memories that mattered. No connection. And that meant that Danny wasn't likely to look for him there either. Perfect.

He hesitated. Danny would be awake by now. He could call. Make sure that Danny was okay. Tell Danny that he was fine. Maybe even suggest that this might not be permanent, that maybe Rusty could get himself together and he'd be able to trust himself, and he could come back to Danny.

_(If Danny wanted him.)_

Trouble was, he didn't know if he was strong enough to stay away if he heard Danny's voice. And...and Danny would be angry with him. Justifiably angry with him. And he couldn't help but wonder if he'd finally crossed that last line and gone beyond what Danny could forgive. Maybe it was better not to know.

He walked away, bought his ticket, and when the plane door shut, he shuddered. No escape and his head was swimming with the echoes and parallels.

Unconsciously, he tried to make himself as small as possible, curled tightly in his seat, his fingers twisting tightly, and he bit his lips together hard to make absolutely sure he kept quiet. The inside of his skin was crawling and he clenched his fists hard and chanted inside his head. "You're fine. You're _fine. _It's all fine." Repeat ad infinitum, and maybe he didn't have to think about anything else.

He was shocked out of his trance when he felt hands snaking across his lap, and he gasped, and shoved them away desperately. When he blinked up, he found himself staring stupidly at a harassed and uneasy-looking air steward.

"_Sir, _you need to fasten your seat belt," he said, and Rusty was left with the feeling that there'd been a first dozen times he hadn't listened. "Do you need me to help you?" the steward went on, talking slowly and clearly and he leaned forwards again, and Rusty shrank back, and fumbled until the belt seemed secure.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"That's right, boy," a drunk-sounding man cheered from across the aisle. "Shove the faggot away. Ask for the one with the nice tits."

The steward's mouth tightened, and Rusty cringed and offered a wavering, apologetic smile.

"The airline does not tolerate verbal or physical assaults on its staff," the steward announced sternly, looking first at the drunk and then at Rusty.

He nodded, smiling, and bit his lip and tried to look the very image of remorse and shame and penitence.

He hadn't meant to. Of course he hadn't meant to. Just like he hadn't meant to hurt Danny. This was why he wasn't fit to be with people.

His eyes were closed as the plane took off, and he chewed on his lip endlessly.

There were no safe places for him. There was no space in his head, not a single thought, not a single memory that wasn't tainted, overwritten with pain and doubt and horror.

He was trapped, hurting and alone, and there was no chance of it ending, no way out, no hope of parole, and every thought he had led back to prison. To Moffatt. To Felding, to Carson. To Danny. Led back to him liking the feeling of Danny beneath him, Danny crying and begging him. It sickened him and he couldn't stop reliving it.

"Sir?" The voice was cautious, and he opened his eyes and found himself looking up at an anxious stewardess. "Sir, you're disturbing the other passengers. Do you need help? Are you on any medication?" He could see the steward standing just behind her, watching and they were both obviously ready for trouble. He must have made some noise or something. Drawn attention to himself. (_He was supposed to be quiet.) _

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I'm fine. I'm sorry."

They didn't look convinced. But he stared desperately out the window and eventually they left him alone. He knew they were watching him though.

He couldn't do anything anymore. There were no safe places, not in his head and not anywhere else. Even the thought of Danny wasn't refuge anymore. He couldn't live like this anymore and the only thing left was...

No. Not that. He wasn't going to even think about that. He'd promised Danny and he wasn't going to break that promise.

But oblivion. Blankness. Not-being. If he could just concentrate on that. If he could just let everything go, let it all fall away. It was easier. It was easy. Without thought, without memory, without caring, without action, motivation – there was no pain.

No more pain.

* * *

Danny was still thinking about this wrong, he knew he was. He was calling the people that he'd expect Rusty to go to. And that was wrong.

Los Angeles. And of course, Rusty had been here recently.

With a frown, he called someone else. Someone he _knew _Rusty wouldn't go to.

Linus sounded very unhappy when he answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, kid," Danny began easily.

"Danny?" And now he sounded incredulous. "Jesus, do you know what time it is?"

Uh..."No idea," he admitted.

"Are you in trouble?" Linus asked sharply and when, exactly, had Linusturned into Bobby? "Are you okay? Is Rusty okay? What's happening?"

"Nothing you need worry about," Danny answered firmly.

"Which means you're not going to tell me," Linus sighed.

Well translated. "Sorry."

There was another sigh. "What do you need?" Linus asked, and somewhere behind him, Danny could hear a woman's sleepy voice asking who was calling and when Linus was coming back to bed. Huh. At a different time, in different circumstances, he would have been amused. He would have teased. Said something. As it was, he ignored the interruption.

"You went with Rusty to Los Angeles," he said. "Where did you find Lenny?" Lenny was among the very last people that Danny would imagine Rusty asking for help. So he should have been the first person Danny checked with. Lenny was a treacherous little weasel – but he did always have contacts that no one else knew. Probably the only reason no one had ever killed the bastard.

"We met him at the Moonrise Lounge. And he was staying at the Hotel Angelino," Linus told him automatically. "Danny, is this about what he said to Rusty? You're not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?"

Danny blinked slowly. "_What _did he say to Rusty?"

There was a brief silence. "Fuck," Linus said at last.

"What did he say, Linus?" Danny repeated, and his voice was louder. Lenny had said something to Rusty. Of course he'd said something to Rusty. And Rusty hadn't told him. Not just because Rusty would never want to tell him. Not even just because by this time, he wasn't totally convinced that Rusty noticed anything wrong with people denigrating him. But also because at that point he'd been trying to convince everyone that he didn't care, and he didn't think it would have occurred to Rusty for one moment that he might.

"He said something about Rusty selling himself in prison for cigarettes," Linus blurted out.

"Right," Danny said, very calmly and deep inside, he was imagining how Rusty would have heard that, and deep inside he was screaming. "Right. Thank you for telling me, Linus."

"You're not going to do something stupid, Danny, right?" Linus asked nervously. "Not like - "

" - no," he said shortly, and he let go of the idea with difficulty. If he was right, Lenny was his best hope of finding Rusty. And Rusty was far more important than explaining his feelings to Lenny.

"Good," Linus sounded relieved for a moment, then he rushed on. "Danny, you know you can trust me, right? If you need help I'll - "

" - I know, Linus," Danny assured him, and there was actually a smile in his voice. "I'd tell you if I needed help."

"Right," Linus said ironically. "Of _course _you would."

"Goodnight, Linus," Danny said lightly. "I'll let you get back to entertaining your friend."

He smiled at the splutters of embarrassment he heard just before he hung up the phone.

He was lucky, and he caught Lenny sitting at a secluded table in the hotel restaurant at breakfast. The bastard actually had the nerve to look pleased to see him, and Danny just about managed to return his smiling greetings.

"So, Danny," Lenny began expansively. "Not seen you in an age. Not since you cut that stupid bastard Ryan loose. Gotta say man, think that's the best decision you ever made. I saw him a few weeks ago, you know. He looked like shit. Ruined my con and punched me too. Like it was my fault he can't tell a Queen from a Jack. Fucker. You're better off without that useless fag. You were always on another level, you know. Everyone always thought so."

He mustn't throw himself across the table and break Lenny's nose. That would be a stupid move. And he tried to keep the burning hatred from his eyes.

Lenny was oblivious. "Actually, I saw him day before yesterday too. Ha!" He smiled. "You'll like this. Fucking bastard came crawling to me for a favour. After everything he'd done. You can bet I didn't make it easy for him. I told him exactly what I thought of him. Little creep lapped it up like a good boy. Even thanked me in the end. Ohh, you can't imagine how good that felt."

There was a storm inside Danny's head. A hurricane. A cataclysm of fury. He smiled carelessly. "What was the favour?" he asked like it was nothing, signalling the waitress for another cup of coffee.

"Oh, he wanted a name of someone who could get him a passport." Lenny shrugged. "Someone he didn't already know. Guess he's burned all his bridges. I mean, I guess he must've got cut a lot of slack for clinging on to you. I mean, you're Danny Ocean. Everyone likes _you. _Everyone thinks you're fantastic. Without you to make him look good, well, what's the fag got, right?"

Danny bit back the anger and the defensive and the careful and painful explanations of everything that Rusty had that Lenny would never understand no matter what Danny said. The point was, Danny had been right. About Lenny and about the passport and he was so much closer to finding Rusty, if only Lenny would talk. "Who did you send him to?" he asked.

It was a question too far. Lenny looked at him sharply. "Why do you want to know?"

Danny said nothing.

Lenny laughed, delighted. "You after a little vengeance, that it Danny? He fuck up one time too often? Bet he owes you money, huh? Come on, you can tell _me._"

"I want to find him," Danny agreed and he smiled coldly and he let Lenny see just the barest shadow of anger, let Lenny imagine it was aimed elsewhere. "Can you tell me who he went to?"

"I can do better than that," Lenny grinned. "I know the name on his passport."

Danny stared. Couldn't help it. "You said you gave him a name," he said slowly, and Lenny wasn't in the passport business.

"Yeah, well," Lenny shrugged smugly. "Sometimes it's good business sense to make sure you know things. I sent him to my guy in New York on the understanding that my guy in New York tells me everything. After all, if Ryan's so anxious to get out the country, I gotta think to myself, someone's after him, right? And that means there's money to be made, knowing what name he's using."

He was going to kill him. He was going to kill him. He was going to..."What name _is _he using," Danny managed to say, and in his head, he'd thrown himself across the table, in his head his hands were wrapped tightly around Lenny's throat, in his head he was watching Lenny's eyes close for the last time.

"Uh uh," Lenny sat back, looking satisfied. "Like I said. Money to be made. It'll cost you."

"How much?" Danny asked steadily.

Lenny shrugged again. "I'll tell you for ten grand. Anyone else it would be fifteen. But give the prick a coupla punches for me, and we'll call it even."

Danny nodded slowly. He would pay it. He would.

Lenny grinned widely. "He's an idiot."

He was. Oh, he was. The idiot Danny would die for.

"Have to wonder what you ever saw in him, Danny, really. I mean, he was never anything special. And you'll laugh when you see him nowadays. Not such a pretty boy, if you ask me. Bet all the dogs in D Wing had their day, if you know what I mean. Bet he liked it. You know what he was always like. Must be good to know that everyone's on your side - "

Danny was standing, suddenly, in a wealth of rage, of fire, of ice and Lenny was looking up at him and there was slow dawning fear in his eyes. "So this is how things are going to go, Lenny," Danny said, and his words were carved in stone. "You're going to tell me everything you know. And then you're going to be very, very quiet. You're not going to tell anyone else. And you're not going to mention this conversation to anyone else. In fact, you're never going to mention Rusty's name ever again. Because if you do – if I even _think _for one, single, solitary moment that you have – then whatever tiny scrap of life I leave you with will be spent in the worst pain _I _can imagine. Do you understand me?"

Lenny nodded slowly, eyes wide.

Danny smiled. "_Good."_

_

* * *

_

The plane landed. He wasn't really aware of it. He wasn't really aware of anything anymore. Barely awake, barely alive, he walked like a zombie through passport control, staring blankly when a friendly woman welcomed him to the Netherlands.

Hotel. That was the only thought left. He had to find a hotel, because he had to lie down. Had to sleep. Sleep was even better. There would be nothing left then.

He asked and he listened and there was a road, and a man who gave him a key and there was a flight of stairs and then there was a bed and then there was nothing.

No more thoughts.

No more pain.

No more anything.

Nothing at all.

* * *

_Danny was in the car park and the gun was heavy in his hand. _

_Linus was staring at Danny like he was the monster._

_Carson was standing in front of him, smiling and triumphant and there was no fear in his eyes._

_Rusty was lying off to the side, bound and naked and beaten and brutalised and the bite mark on his shoulder was fresh and livid and bleeding and there was so much blood between his legs, so much... _

_Danny screamed until his throat was raw._

"_You lose, Danny," Carson whispered and Danny couldn't bear the delight in his voice._

_He pulled the trigger. The gunshot was the only sound in the world._

_Carson staggered back a couple of steps and he was bent over, like he was crumpling in on himself and the bloodstain was spreading across his shirt._

_Then he stood up straight. _

_Then the blood melted away._

_Then he smiled and looked straight at Danny._

"_I told you, Danny. I told you that if you even thought about trying anything clever then I'd destroy everyone that you care about. And I told you I'd have fun when I did." He leaned in to Danny, impossibly close. "_This is fun," _he hissed, and suddenly there was a gun in Carson's hand, and he moved faster than Danny could even see, and the gun was pointing and Carson pulled the trigger and Linus' blood was all over the ground._

"_Do you think he's dead?" Carson asked, sounding faintly interested. "I think he's dead."_

_All Danny could do was stare. And then the car park was full of cops, and Bobby was there, incoherent and inconsolable, and Carson smiled at the nearest cop. "That's the man who killed me," he said. "Right there." He pointed at Rusty._

_The cops were grabbing Rusty, hauling him to his feet, even while Danny was desperately trying to argue that Carson wasn't dead and Danny was the one who'd killed him, and Rusty was still bleeding and Rusty wouldn't even look at him, and no one was listening and Linus was _dead _and they were dragging Rusty back to prison." _

"_Wait," Carson ordered imperiously and everything froze, and Danny stared as Carson walked towards him, and he was begging, pleading, asking Carson for mercy. Carson's hand reached into Danny's jacket pocket and he gently pulled out the list. "They'll need this, won't they, Danny? It won't be nearly as much fun unless He's there, will it? We need to give Rusty something to do with his time."_

_Danny followed Carson's gaze and there was a man standing in the doorway to the prison, just beyond the car park, and Danny knew what the man had done and what the man was going to do, and the cops were dragging Rusty there now, and there was nothing he could do, and he was _screaming -

He woke to find a frowning woman shaking his shoulder politely. "_Sir, _you need to wake up!"

"Rusty!" he gasped, staring round, like he expected to see Rusty there, like he expected Rusty to have come back to him.

"What?" The woman was staring at him like he was crazy. He studied her for a second and noticed the uniform. Right. Air hostess. He was on a plane.

He managed to pull himself together and offer a weak smile. "I'm sorry. I guess I was having a nightmare. I hope I didn't disturb anyone?"

The frown was ever so slightly less. He was pretty sure his sanity was still under question. He knew the feeling. "Well, you were making quite a lot of noise, sir. I'm sorry, but we have to think about the other passengers."

"Of course," he smiled understandingly. "I'm sorry. I'll just read my book."

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, apparently automatically.

"A black coffee. Please. Thank you." He relaxed a little as he watched her walk off and he glanced down to see his hands tremble. The coffee should help. He wasn't going to fall asleep again. God. That had seemed so real.

A plane. He was going to Amsterdam. Because Lenny had told him that the name Rusty was travelling under was John Francis Austen and, after eight hours of phone calls and waiting and more doubt and suspicion, he'd finally been told that John Francis Austen had caught a plane to Amsterdam three days ago and hadn't been heard of since. Danny figured that Rusty must have picked up another ID there and moved on...but it was still the only lead he had.

He wanted Rusty back. He needed Rusty back.

He spent the rest of the flight dreaming about things he could have said or done. Ways that everything could have been different.

After a time, he found his hand going to his pocket and he found himself staring down at creased paper, read and reread and folded and refolded. Utterly memorised and burned deep into his soul.

_Barrow, Scott; Cox, John; Felding, Hugh; Gable, Duncan; Kowalski, Tomas; Macloud, Michael; Mulligan, James; Turner, Patrick; Winchester, David. _

Names. So many names. He wondered which of them Rusty had seen in Danny. Wondered which of them had driven Rusty to this.

Ways that everything could be different...reluctantly he put the list away.

In the airport, he managed to ask the right questions. Tell the right stories. Bribe the right people. It took time, but he followed Rusty's trail as far as a rundown hotel, just a little more than walking distance from the airport.

Twenty minutes later and he was standing in a grimy hotel room, breathing dust and stale air and looking down at vacant and passive and lifeless. "So," he said a little too loud. "I'm gonna assume that you developed a sudden fondness for tulips and windmills, huh."

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.**


	5. Two weeks after Part 2

**A/N: Shorter part of the thing. Still chapter 4 though, lets be clear on that.**

* * *

There was darkness and nothing else.

Sometimes he thought he heard a voice and he thought that was supposed to mean something.

He stayed deep inside his head where he was safe.

* * *

Rusty didn't answer. Didn't react. Didn't seem to know that Danny was there.

He sighed and sat down on the side of the bed and ran a hand through Rusty's hair. It was lank and damp with sweat, and it seemed like dust had settled in it. "Rusty?" he said gently. "I'm here. I'm here with you. Can you hear me?"

There was no answer and Danny's hand carefully drifted lower until the pulse in Rusty's throat fluttered against his fingers and Danny bit his lip. Rusty hadn't moved. Hadn't so much as flinched. And Danny would never have believed he could miss the sight of Rusty cringing away from him.

"I'm sorry I took so long to find you," he told Rusty quietly. "I didn't think it would take so much time. I guess...I guess I'm not as good as I was."

Rusty was unresponsive and Danny looked into his eyes and knew nothing was looking back.

Desperately he looked away, and his gaze fell on the bedside table and he saw the small toothglass of water and the Mars Bar with the single bite out of it. Evidence that Rusty had at least tried to make an effort to keep himself alive. Neither looked like they'd been touched in a few days. Not judging by the fine layer of dust.

He closed his eyes for a moment and his hand was lightly tangled in Rusty's hair, and he concentrated on keeping breathing. He had no idea what to do. No idea what the right thing to do was, except that Rusty seemed to be completely catatonic and he had a feeling that the objectively right thing to do was to phone a doctor and let someone more qualified in. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't let anyone else take care of Rusty, and he couldn't imagine that there was any chance that Rusty could let anyone else help him. And certainly, more than anything else, he couldn't take the risk that Rusty would be taken away, locked up in some hospital, and Danny would never get him back.

Okay. Completely out of ideas, he opened his eyes and smiled brightly down at Rusty. "We should get you cleaned up," he announced, and if there was nothing else he supposed he could handle the practical. Rusty continued to stare, dead-eyed ahead of him and Danny broke, just a little. "_Please, _Rusty," he said in a low voice, desperate and begging. "Just give me something. Anything. Just let me know you're..._talk _to me. Blink. Get out of bed." He frowned, angry and frightened and irrational and his voice was raised. "_Get out of bed."_

There was nothing and he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He just didn't want to be left alone. He'd been alone for so very long, and after the last few short weeks, even though Rusty had been hurting, even through all the pain, they had been together and he hadn't been alone. And it was selfish, but he didn't want to be lonely anymore.

He took a deep breath and forced normalacy into his voice. "So, I'm going to go start running a bath and then bring you a drink. You must be thirsty." He frowned. "Actually, you're probably dehydrated," he corrected, and he had no idea how he was going to get Rusty to drink.

That was the next problem though. He went through to the bathroom and grimaced at the state of it. Between this and the dust next door, he'd guess the staff didn't bother cleaning between guests. Or possibly between decades. "Think you've managed to find the worst hotel in Holland," he called through as though Rusty would answer him, and he wiped the tub down before he turned the taps on. There was another plastic-wrapped toothglass by the sink and he grabbed it and filled it full of water.

When he stepped back into the room Rusty was standing silently by the bed.

Danny stared for a moment and carefully laid the glass down on the sideboard. "Rus'?" he asked hopefully. "Rusty? You with me?"

There was no response. Rusty wasn't looking at him. Danny slowly stepped closer and reached out and tipped Rusty's head up towards him. Rusty's eyes were blank and vacant and lightless. Danny was shaking and he pulled Rusty into his arms, hoping, praying that it would make some kind of a difference. It didn't Rusty didn't respond in any way. It was like hugging a lifeless mannequin. There was still nothing here. No hint of Rusty, no sign of their connection. But something had changed. Rusty had moved, had got out of bed, something had...

_No. _

He hated the answer that presented itself. Hated it with every fibre of his being. And still he had to check. "Rusty? Raise your right arm," he ordered, and he was compelled to add "Please."

There was a long, expressionless, dead moment. And then Rusty sluggishly raised his arm.

Danny had to turn away and the wretched, uncontrollable, unstoppable sobs trembled through him.

* * *

There was darkness and there was a voice and he did what it said unquestioningly. He didn't know why, not really. Didn't know anything. He just remembered that there'd been pain before and there'd be pain again, and the voice had led him somewhere safe, and the voice had said it would leave if he didn't do what it said, and he knew that was bad. He had to obey. He had to show the voice that he'd do anything. Even if it hurt. Anything.

* * *

Really, he supposed, he should be grateful that it was him that had found Rusty. Unbearable to think about other possibilities and Rusty being unknowingly, helplessly obedient.

He didn't know the whys. Didn't know how this had come about, whether Rusty had been hurt, whether Rusty had just given up. He didn't know _anything. _He didn't know if this had happened before, even. In prison. Before he'd known. Before he'd cared. He wondered if, in the face of unrelenting pain, any part of Rusty had just acknowledged that it was easier to submit, easier to not even know....

When he turned back, Rusty was still standing with his arm raised, robotically obedient.

"Put your arm down," Danny said sharply and winced when Rusty did. "Sorry. Please. Thank you. _Rusty...." _

He stared at the shell that should be his best friend for a very long time. "Rus', if you can hear me..." He paused, momentarily, searching for understanding in Rusty's eyes. There was nothing. "I don't know what to do. And I'm _scared. _But I'm not going to give up. I'm never going to leave you again. I promise you, Rusty. Any time you want to...whenever you manage to come back, I'll be here. Waiting for you."

He squeezed Rusty's hand reassuringly. There wasn't the faintest sign that Rusty had heard him. Danny sighed. "Okay." He reached back and picked up the glass of water and held it to Rusty's lips when Rusty made no move to take it. "Drink," he prompted quietly and Rusty sipped. "Swallow," he added and Rusty obeyed instantly.

"There we go," he said, when the water was gone. "That's better." He hoped it was.

* * *

"_Swallow_," the voice whispered and he obeyed. He wanted to make the voice happy, and somewhere in the darkness of his mind, he was waiting for the taste of salt and surrender.

* * *

He walked through to the bathroom and turned the taps off. "Rusty?" he called, turning back to the doorway, ignoring the fact that he was almost certain that Rusty wasn't responsive to his name. "Will you come through here?"

For a moment he just watched as Rusty struggled to obey him, every step obviously difficult and painful, and then he rushed forwards and wrapped his arms around Rusty, practically carrying him. "Easy, easy," he said, grimacing. "I'm sorry. I should have thought."

With difficulty, he got Rusty through to the bathroom and he turned away, busied himself checking the bath and the soap and he tried to let the moment of betrayal slip by without either of them even noticing. "Rusty? Take your clothes off, please."

It was wrong. It _was _a betrayal. He knew that; Rusty had made it perfectly clear exactly what he wasn't comfortable with earlier. And there were tears in his eyes as he listened to the sound of Rusty submitting to him. But he _had _to. Not least because it had been four days and he had no way of knowing what Rusty had been doing. No way of being certain that Rusty hadn't hurt himself. No way of being certain that he _was _the first to find Rusty. No way of being certain that no one else had hurt Rusty. He needed to know and Rusty couldn't tell him, even if he could be certain that Rusty _would_. And he could be certain of _nothing_.

When he had no more excuses, he turned back round and he looked at Rusty, standing naked in front of him. "I'm sorry," he said, and he was looking into Rusty's blank eyes, not able to let his gaze drift lower, even for a second. "I really am sorry."

He took a deep breath and looked. Walked all round Rusty. Inspecting him. And it was as brief as he could manage, and still he found himself imagining Rusty standing there, knowing that Danny was _looking _at him, knowing that Danny was seeing him, and not being able to do anything, not being able to say anything....

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted under his breath, over and over again. "Sorrysorrysorry."

He tried not to look at the scars. Tried not to know. Didn't mean that the memory wouldn't be burned into his mind until the very instant he died.

But there were no new injuries and he managed to breathe a momentary, ragged, sigh of relief.

* * *

Somewhere, somehow, he knew he was being watched. Inspected. Examined. And somewhere, somehow, he remembered what that meant. Remembered being leered at, lusted over. Remembered the crushing weight of being owned.

He tried to creep deeper into the darkness. Deeper into not knowing.

* * *

The bath was awful and awkward and he kept his eyes fixed resolutely on Rusty's face and he didn't trust himself to speak, barely trusted himself to breathe, and even the helpless apologies choked him. Even now he expected Rusty to look up at him, to _see _him, to say something, to be _alive. _And he didn't.

He washed Rusty, quickly, efficiently and as gently and lovingly as he could. And, just for a moment, just for the briefest second, he thought he caught a glimpse of absolute hell in Rusty's eyes.

"Rus'?" he asked uncertainly, but there was a world of nothing.

* * *

Loving touches. Gentle caresses. Absolute cruelty. Eyes fixed on his that knew, and demanded, and wanted _everything. _Wanted inside him. He wanted to scream but he daren't and he tried to move but he couldn't and the darkness wasn't just a sanctuary now, it was a trap and a nightmare.

* * *

"It's okay, Rusty," he promised quietly, as he drew Rusty up and out of the bath, wrapped him in layers of towels, dried his body, rubbed a towel through his hair. "It's just me. We're okay. We're fine."

He led Rusty through to the bedroom and got him sitting on the chair. And with every step, the obedience killed him, just a little. Rusty wasn't meek. Wasn't compliant. This wasn't Rusty.

"You stay there, okay?" he asked earnestly, glancing back at the bed. "Got to find some clean clothes. Clean sheets. That kind of stuff." He smiled. "What, don't you think I make a good chambermaid? I'll be dusting next." He looked round the room. "And this place could certainly do with it...." The smile dropped away and he squeezed Rusty's hand. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

He stripped the bed, neatly and efficiently and took the sheets out into the hall. The laundry chute wasn't hard to find. And, conveniently enough, it was in the linen closet, and he was able to liberate a new change of bedclothes. Which, thankfully, he was able to hide on the edge of a window sill when the bored-looking bellhop came up the stairs.

Danny smiled at the kid. "Hey. You speak English?"

The kid gazed at him incuriously, working on a piece of gum. "Yes. A little bit."

He dug into his pocket and came up with a handful of notes. He'd changed all the money he could at the airport. And he wasn't exactly sure what the currency in these parts was called, and he certainly had no idea what it was worth – but judging by the sudden flash of surprised interest in the kid's eyes, it was worth _enough. _"My friend's sick. I don't want to leave him. Can you run out and get some soup or something. Hot. Fresh."

The kid's eyes never left the cash in his hand. "And if I do, you give me money?"

Danny peeled off a couple of notes. "This now. More when you bring the soup back. Okay?"

The kid nodded, popped his gum, and wandered off to the elevator.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Okay. Only thing left was fresh clothes, and, when he looked back along the corridor, the couple coming out of the room at the end of the hall gave him the answer to that. The moment they were safely away in the elevator, he used the keycard, snuck into the room and started searching through the suitcase. Really, this wasn't about fashion, it was about speed and expedience, so he just grabbed the first things he found. He had to figure the hotel staff would be blamed. And he was just fine with that. It might be irrational but....they had left Rusty alone for four days. And just because they had no reason to care didn't mean they shouldn't.

Rusty hadn't moved when he got back. And by this point, Danny almost wished that Rusty had taken advantage of the moment to run away from him again.

"You mind standing up?" he asked casually and, when Rusty made no move to do so, frowning, he pulled him to his feet before dressing him as quickly as possible. It was like dressing a shop dummy. His hands on Rusty's body. And like the bath, he hoped Rusty didn't know.

"Apparently we got jeans and a Daffy Duck t-shirt. Sorry about that." He stood back and looked at Rusty. "At least it's comfortable, right?" He smiled slightly. "Actually, you look kind of like you did when you were being Randy Farrow's plumber. Remember that?"

There was a knock at the door, and he froze for a moment, before carefully shoving Rusty into the bathroom, out of sight. "Stay there," he ordered tersely. Just in case. Just to be safe.

When he opened the door though, it was just the bellhop kid, holding a steaming polystyrene bowl of soup. Good. He smiled his thanks, took the soup, shoved a handful of notes into the kid's hand and closed the door before he even had a chance to speak.

He glanced at Rusty, still standing in the bathroom doorway. "Come and sit down," he requested. "Please."

Rusty obeyed, and Danny pushed the spoon into his hand. There was no reaction. And maybe it was Danny's imagination, but Rusty seemed to be getting less responsive to him.

"Looks like the kid went to the local Chinese place," he told Rusty quietly. "Chicken noodle. It smells good..." He held the spoon up to Rusty's mouth enticingly, and, with a series of soft commands, he managed to get Rusty to eat. "Okay," he said quietly. "I guess we can work with this."

He was silent as he spoon-fed Rusty until the last of the soup was gone.

He was silent when he stood up and gently kissed Rusty on the forehead.

He was silent when he turned away and made the bed.

Momentum was fading.

Hope was failing.

* * *

**Last part of this chapter soon. In the meantime, please review.**


	6. Two weeks after part 3

**Once again I'd like to thank InSilva. For many things.**

* * *

All the practicalities were taken care of. Really, he'd handled everything physical that Rusty could need. And now he was out of ideas. Rusty was still and blank and nothing made a difference.

He looked at Rusty for a moment and gently ran a trembling hand through blond hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He'd failed. He swallowed hard. "Let's...let's lie down for a while, huh? Just for a while." He took Rusty's hand and quietly led him towards the bed. Rusty followed, unprotesting and pliant, and eventually Danny was lying with Rusty on top of him, his hands on Rusty's arms, Rusty's head tipped back against his shoulder. He gazed at the slackness in Rusty's face and eventually, quietly, he began to talk.

"I think Linus has a girlfriend," he announced. "I called him and there was a woman there, and I know for a fact he really isn't into one night deals, so...I think she must be his girlfriend. Brave woman. If she's been introduced to his folks that is. Gotta think that Bobby will probably turn into Jack Byrnes when Linus brings a girl home. 'Meet the Parents'. You ever see that movie?" He felt stupid. "You probably never saw that movie. Terrible waste of De Niro. No place for Al Capone. Not even a place for Frankenstein's monster." He paused for a few moments and the tears were falling but his voice was steady. "Remember the first time we saw that? It was on the Champs Elysee. We had some time to kill and we needed to keep off the streets for a while, and you said as long as we were hiding, there should be popcorn. Of course, we couldn't go to a _subtitled _performance, could we? Wouldn't have been the same experience. I only caught about three words in five. You told me the butler did it! Do you remember?" Rusty stared at the ceiling and Danny kissed his hair lightly. "_I _remember," he whispered.

* * *

He felt a little safer now. But the voice sounded sad. Something stirred uneasily inside him. He clung desperately to the darkness and the nothing and the surety of oblivion, and it didn't seem to hide him so well anymore.

* * *

Danny talked. Calmly and steadily and consistently.

On some level, some dark part of his mind that he didn't much like to acknowledge knew that this could very well be it. He wasn't going to let go. And he wasn't going to give up. If nothing changed, they might well lie here like this forever.

An hour passed. And another. And another. And another. Danny kept talking. Maybe he wanted to believe that his voice could bring Rusty back. Or maybe he just wanted to pretend that he wasn't quite so alone.

His phone rang, followed by Rusty's. Saul, again. For about the fifth time. And Reuben had called twice, and Frank had called once, and Danny had talked to no one. Especially not Saul. Because what could he say? Saul had trusted him. And he'd failed.

He kept talking.

He earnestly explained the rules of Blackjack to Rusty. Going through every hand that added up to twenty one. Explaining why no one should stick on fifteen. Telling Rusty how to count cards. He watched Rusty's face with every word, and there was no reaction at all.

* * *

The voice was still talking. _Danny_ was still talking, he realised suddenly. Danny. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't lose that realisation, and the darkness wasn't nearly so welcoming. _Danny._

_

* * *

_

Eight hours and Danny hadn't stopped talking. His voice was hoarse now and cracking as he painstakingly described the exact whereabouts of each and every freckle that appeared on Tess' neck at the height of summer.

Rusty stirred against his chest, turning his head to look up at him. "_Danny,_" he murmured softly. "Danny."

The relief washed over Danny and it was like a reprieve he'd forgotten how to hope for. His mouth was moving but he couldn't speak and he looked down at Rusty like he'd never seen him before, like he'd never expected to see him again.

"I asked you not to look for me," Rusty said blankly.

Danny stared and the anger roared back into life. "_You asked me not to look for you?" _he echoed, and he gripped Rusty's arms a little tighter, the absolute terror, the agony of the last four days screaming in his soul. "You drugged me, Rusty. You _left _me."

"I _had _to," Rusty argued.

Danny wasn't listening. "You gave me that day, and what was that? A little sop of comfort before you walk out on me? Did you think I'd just smile and say, 'Oh, well, at least I'll always have Bogart'?"

"It wasn't like that," Rusty said tightly.

"You left me," Danny repeated. "You left me in a hotel room with just a note and I didn't know if...._and you asked me not to look for you?"_

Rusty was tense in his arms. "You're angry with me."

"No shit," he snarled.

"Then _why?" _Rusty asked desperately.

Danny opened his mouth to explain _exactly _why he was angry. And then he suddenly realised that wasn't the question Rusty had been asking. He sighed and the fire died down. "I have to, Rusty. Doesn't matter how angry I am."

Rusty sat up violently, springing away from him. "Well, _don't. _I _hurt _you, Danny. I hurt you, and I'll do it again and we're better apart."

"We've _never _been better apart." Danny snapped and added desperately. "You said it yourself, remember? We're going to hurt each other."

"_I never meant this!" _

Rusty's words echoed round the hotel room for a long time and Danny could feel every inch of the guilt and misery.

He sighed. "I know."

"I never want to hurt you, Danny." Rusty's voice was tight and desperate. "I can't - "

" - but you are," Danny interrupted gently. "Fuck, Rusty, when I woke up and realised you were actually gone...I thought you were going to - "

" - I promised you I wouldn't," Rusty cut in. "I said I wasn't going to. I was just going to go away and cope by myself."

Danny eyes flickered round the hotel room. "Yeah. You really did a good job of that."

Rusty looked like he was desperate to argue. Then he sighed and dropped his chin onto his hand. "I don't know what to do."

"That makes two of us," Danny admitted after a moment.

Rusty looked up at him. "I _tried_, Danny, really I did."

"I know," he said softly, and he did.

"It all hurt so much," Rusty went on, like he hadn't exactly heard Danny at all, "It hurt so much and I had to stop thinking, and then I couldn't find my way back..."

"Rus'," Danny murmured, and he slid across the bed, wrapped an arm round Rusty's chest. "Oh, Rusty."

"I heard you," Rusty whispered after a moment and Danny had to strain his ears to hear. "I heard your voice. I can't do this on my own, can I?"

"Neither of us can," Danny reminded him gently. "I need you too." So much.

"You don't - " Rusty began and Danny wasn't going to listen.

" - Think we've been through this. Maybe more than once. I need you, Rusty. I don't want to be alone anymore. Please, Rus'."

"I hurt you, Danny," Rusty told him.

"Yes you did," Danny said simply. "You hurt both of us."

"I could have killed you. I...I could still kill you. If I get confused again."

Danny tried to keep the optimism from his face. At least Rusty was talking like he expected Danny to be around. "You took me by surprise. If..._if_ it happens again, I'll be more prepared. I'll be expecting you. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure you don't hurt either of us."

"_Everything?" _Rusty asked carefully.

"Yes," Danny said, without any hesitation.

Rusty stared at him fiercely. "You'll hit me? You'll hurt me? You'll hold me down, even if...even if I'm struggling? Even when you can see I'm terrified of you?"

The idea was more than he could stand. He choked on the very _thought. _But he knew why Rusty was asking. And he knew what he had to say. What he had to do. "Everything in my power," he repeated steadily. "I promise."

Rusty closed his eyes. "Okay," he whispered, and he leaned in against Danny. "Okay."

Danny's arm was tight around him and they sat in silence for a while.

* * *

Rusty didn't have any more arguments. Not with Danny here and all-too-obviously desperate for him to stay. And he didn't even want to anymore. Staying away from Danny. Truth was, he'd never been that strong.

And Danny's promise did go some way towards reassuring him. Because even as he could see how it hurt Danny, he could see how Danny meant it. And Danny didn't break his promises. Rusty could trust in that and maybe it shouldn't be enough, but he couldn't see any other choices that didn't hurt them even more.

He leaned on Danny, and it felt like home.

"I'm sorry," he said very quietly and he meant for hurting Danny, and he meant for running and he meant for everything. Because this _wasn't _the way things were meant to be. This wasn't how they were meant to be.

"Nowhere I'd rather be," Danny told him. "No one I'd rather be with. That doesn't change. That's never going to change. No matter what."

"Me too," he said softly. And Danny had told him often enough, in the last two weeks, that he loved him. Rusty hadn't even been able to say it when he'd been leaving, when he'd never planned on seeing Danny again.

Danny brushed a brief kiss against his forehead. "You never gave me a reason to doubt it," he said simply. "Doesn't matter how angry I am with you," he went on, and Rusty knew he meant now and four years ago. "I've always known why you did what you did. And I've always known how you felt."

Rusty looked at him and he could see truth and sincerity and there'd been such a long time when he hadn't known that Danny had felt the same. When he'd been sure that Danny would never want to be near him again. When he'd tried to learn to live with the knowledge that he'd be alone for the rest of his life. And he thought that maybe _this _would never stop being surprising and wonderful.

"How did you find me?" he asked, presently, when he trusted himself to speak.

Danny shrugged. "Panicked. Ran around a lot. Eventually went to Lenny."

"Oh," Rusty said with a grimace, remembering exactly how he'd let Lenny talk to him. He could only hope....he glanced at Danny's face and winced. No. Lenny had definitely said something to make Danny angry. "He sent you to Chambers."

"No. He just gave me the name you were using," Danny said shortly. "He sold you out, Rusty."

"To you," Rusty pointed out, and it wasn't like he hadn't been expecting it. They knew Lenny wasn't loyal. "That should be - "

" - it isn't," Danny said simply.

He hesitated. "You didn't - "

" - I didn't do anything to him, don't worry," Danny told him. "But I don't think he's going to want to see either of us for a while."

"I don't want to see him." He stared at Danny and there was something else. "You found me here?"

"Yeah," Danny agreed and his voice was haunted. "You didn't even look up when I came in the door. I couldn't get you to react. I thought....I thought maybe this was it."

A confused welter of images passed by Rusty's eyes. Danny taking care of him. He remembered being told to strip, remembered being washed and dressed and spoonfed. And it felt humiliating and it felt familiar in a way he didn't like to think of, and he did his best to push all the echoes away. That wasn't what Danny had been doing. It certainly wasn't what Danny had been wanting. And still he remembered being naked and he felt sick.

"You were doing anything I told you to," Danny said hesitantly and Rusty could hear the question that Danny wasn't asking.

"I never did what anyone said," he told Danny harshly. "What, you think I'd just roll over because someone asked me to? I _know _I didn't. And I never let myself get lost back then." And maybe the truth was that Moffatt had never let him get lost back then, but the point remained. It hadn't happened.

"Good," Danny said softly. "I....I'm sorry, Rus'."

"You couldn't know," Rusty pointed out after a moment. He glanced away from Danny and it was like he was talking to himself. "It's like it's more difficult now. Now that I don't always need to be looking over my shoulder, I mean. When it was all the time, when I knew I'd see Him every day, when I knew someone would be touching me every day, when I knew it would only be a few days before.....I didn't have time to think about it. Didn't have to do anything but survive."

Danny was staring at him, unshed tears in his eyes.

"I don't mean it was...." He backtracked quickly. "Just that it was different. And I can't get used to everything. And now...." Now he got confused. Reacted wrong. Read things wrong. And he thought again about waking up from the dream of Moffatt, thought again about hurting Danny. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Danny heard the apology again and he couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else Rusty had told him. "You hurt me because you thought I was someone else," he told Rusty firmly. "Because you were dreaming about being raped and you thought I was him."

"I wasn't - " Rusty began and stopped abruptly.

He frowned. "What?"

"Never mind." Rusty shook his head and smiled tightly. "The point is - "

" - What do you mean?" Danny persisted.

Rusty hesitated and looked away uneasily. "The dream. He wasn't...fucking me. So it definitely wasn't....He didn't even hurt me."

"Rus'...." Danny couldn't believe what he was hearing. Couldn't bear what he was hearing.

"He didn't hurt me, Danny," Rusty insisted, and Danny could hear the sincerity in Rusty's voice. Could hear that Rusty believed what he was saying. "Really, He never hurt me. That much. That often."

He was staring. "We have wildly different ideas of what 'hurt' means," he managed, and it was all he could think of to say.

Rusty looked down at the floor. "Physically, I mean."

"Not all that matters." Not even a fraction of what mattered.

"Still. Most of the time with Him, I walked away with hardly a mark on me." And Rusty said that like it made it all better. Like it made Danny forget about the fear and the agony and it being all the time.

Danny thought of the scars. Thought of the photos. And he knew the pain and memory showed in his face.

Rusty peered up at him hesitantly. "The photos? That was someone else. Before. The first...not the first time. But the first who did it often. He liked to hurt me. The other, He...didn't. Wasn't what he was into. And in my dream he wasn't hurting me."

Inside, Danny was screaming and he wasn't so very sure that Rusty understood everything he'd just revealed. He'd got from what Rusty had said, way back, that there'd been more than one man attacking him. But to hear Rusty mentioning people and times and what they _liked, _so casually, like he understood and accepted....he couldn't stand it. And he'd assumed the man who Rusty hated so much, the man who terrified Rusty so much, the 'Him' that Rusty had so obviously and so recently wanted to kill – he'd assumed that was the shadowed man. The one who'd hurt Rusty in those photos. The one who'd sent Rusty to hospital so often. And to know that he wasn't, to know there was someone else, someone just as bad...He felt cold and sick inside.

"He was hurting you, Rus'," he said softly. "Whatever he was doing, he was hurting you enough to kill."

Rusty didn't look convinced, and Danny let himself take a split second's fantasy about _what _he would do to this man that didn't hurt Rusty very much or very often.

He sighed and ran his hand through Rusty's hair. "He hurt you. And that's why you hurt me."

"What do we do now?" Rusty asked quietly.

And he knew Rusty meant long term. Knew Rusty was talking serious plans and the rest of their lives. But he just couldn't think that far ahead. "Better hotel," he decided instead, and he could see Rusty watching him, and he knew his hesitation had been understood.

"The Pulitzer's nice," Rusty offered, standing up and stretching painfully.

Danny caught his hand suddenly. "Rusty. Tell me you aren't going to leave again."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Rusty said lightly.

Danny bit his lip. "_Promise _me," he demanded.

Rusty turned round and looked at him. And he let Rusty see everything, every second of fear and desperation and defeat from the last four days. "Oh, _Danny," _Rusty murmured, and there was a lifetime of apologies there. "I...I promise. I won't leave you again."

"I need you, Rus'," he said softly. "I really do. It's two-way, this thing."

Gently, Rusty lifted Danny's hands to his lips and kissed his hand lightly. "I won't leave you alone," he promised.

"Good," Danny said and he smiled. "So, better hotel. Fresh clothes. _Room service. _I don't think I've eaten since the popcorn."

Rusty frowned at him and he could see concern and disapproval warring with the slightest hint of amusement. "One of these days, we're going to need to learn something about independent living."

Danny stood up slowly, stretching, and somehow, he ended up with his arms wrapped tight around Rusty. "No time soon," he murmured.

* * *

**And that, is the end of chapter four. Next chapter will finally be chapter five. **


	7. Three weeks after

**I want to take the opportunity to thank InSilva for being unbelievably patient and helpful and encouraging with this chapter (and with me generally) and for listening and offering suggestions as to how to make it _better. _Which, hopefully, it now is. And if it isn't, it's my fault. ;) Thanks, mate.**

**A/N: I have no knowledge of the Rijksmuseum. Sorry to anyone who knows it.  
**

* * *

_**Three Weeks After...**_

"I'm bored," Rusty announced suddenly, which, considering that he had spent the last half hour trying to balance a wineglass on the back of the sofa, should not have come as a complete surprise.

It did though. Mostly because Danny was staring blankly at the TV having spent much of the day watching Sesame Street. He was now fully confident that he could say "There are ten policemen" in Flemish and he'd spent the last half hour trying to come up with any scenario in which that would prove useful. "You could change the channel," he suggested, as the gopher scored his third hole in one.

Rusty looked at him. "No. I mean I'm _bored." _

"Oh," Danny said slowly. And that really was a surprise, and he had to resist the urge to demand if Rusty was sure.

They'd been doing better for the most part. The past week they'd been settled in the best suite at the Pulitzer doing nothing. Being sedentary and still. Relaxing and reconnecting. _Healing._

Felt like they'd made some progress. They'd thought a lot. Talked some. Come up with plans and ideas. Actions. New ways of being.

They started simply. Hidden in the sanctuary of their suite where no one else could see and no no one knew when they failed and when they hurt.

Just talking about it had felt awkward.

"We need to do something," he'd said and Rusty hadn't pretended not to understand what he meant.

"You going to suggest that I weave baskets or something?"

He'd smiled a little, but Rusty was subdued and wouldn't meet his eyes. "Not exactly what I had in mind. We can't go on like this, Rus'."

"What do you want?" Rusty asked quietly.

It wasn't about him. Not even a little. Except it was. "I want you not to be scared. I want you to be able to deal with me touching you. I want you to be able to stand in a room with other people without - "

" - freaking out," Rusty supplied heavily. "Yeah. Yeah. I....I had it covered. Before, I mean. After Frank called. I should be able to _deal _with this."

His voice was filled with self-disgust and self-loathing and Danny took his hand gently. "Hey. It's not your fault."

Rusty smiled at him, not saying anything.

"How did you deal with it before?" he asked after a moment.

Rusty looked away from him again. "Put myself in the position of having to deal with people. Having them brush past me and touch me. Getting used to it all of a sudden. Shock therapy, I guess you could call it."

There was the slightest tremble in Rusty's voice and Danny knew how much that had hurt. "We're not doing that," he said instantly.

"It worked," Rusty pointed out slowly. "I did that and there were no more memories. For a little while, anyway."

Danny looked at him for a moment and he thought that there was probably a difference between dealing and repressing. He wanted Rusty _healed. "_We're not doing that," he said again, practically begging. "Can't we start slow?"

"Alright." Rusty had met his eyes then, swallowed painfully. "What did you have in mind?"

Rusty couldn't stand being touched. Especially unexpectedly. So Danny spent his time doing just that. Holding on while Rusty flinched away from him. Watching Rusty tremble. Listening to Rusty's harsh and laboured breathing. Waiting until Rusty had calmed himself. Trying all over again.

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. Both of them. And sometimes Rusty was left on the opposite side of the room from him, the heels of his hands forced against his eyes, fighting for even the slightest illusion of self control, and all Danny could do was watch and wait.

A couple of days Rusty hadn't wanted to leave the hotel room. Hadn't wanted to leave the bed, even, and Danny had seen him lying there, still and blank and silent, and he'd found the strength to be very insistent. Each day they spent a little more time among people. Little bit more pressure for Rusty to be under, few more people looking at him, more attention, more casual contact, and Danny made him stay until long after he stopped being comfortable.

Rusty couldn't deal with anyone being behind him; Danny could see that every time he did it. He stood behind Rusty and watched the tension shudder through him and murmured soft words of reassurance. Promised that there was nothing to be afraid of.

It was torture, pure and simple. For both of them. He suffered, watching Rusty suffer and they told themselves it was good for them. But it felt like maybe it was working, and maybe that was all that mattered.

The nightmares came every night . (_Mostly at night. And most of the time only when Rusty was asleep.) _And, somewhere in the last three weeks, he'd accepted them the way Rusty understood them. Just part of life. But silence was bad and Danny had gotten into the habit of leaving the TV or the radio on while they slept. Music. Always music. Something that could tell Rusty immediately where he wasn't. Of course, the side effect of that was that he had a feeling that they both knew more about current music than they ever had in their lives. Made him feel a little old.

As long as Rusty always woke up to Danny, he thought it helped a little. Made the nightmares less unbearable. Little things. Could be enough.

Things were better. Things were calmer. And they were finding a routine, hiding away from the world. Surviving nicely.

But no more than that.

Danny could see why, after a week, Rusty might be desperate to try living again.

He smiled. "Okay," he said simply. "You got something in mind?"

* * *

The Rijksmuseum was exactly the way Rusty remembered it. Which was good. It had been six years since he'd been here, eighteen months since he'd come up with the plan and that was plenty of time for them to have remodelled.

"Need more than just a screwdriver, right?" Danny said, staring intently at the extra section of wall.

"Like you'd know what to do with a screwdriver anyway," Rusty told him, checking for wires leading away. Nothing. Self contained then. His memory hadn't let him down. This was workable.

"I'm not completely useless," Danny objected, frowning slightly. "Couple of years back, I put up a shelf."

"With a screwdriver?" Rusty checked.

"Mmmm." The frown deepened. "There may have been a hammer involved as well."

"Uh huh." They walked past the promising wall and started wandering towards the main entrance. "This shelf of yours. Did it actually _work?" _

Danny wasn't listening to him. Instead he was staring at a small notice on the side of the wall. Rusty had a look. It proclaimed in Flemish that this time next week, displayed right here for their pleasure, with the kind cooperation of the Kimbell Art Museum, would be Caravaggio's world-famous 'Card Sharps'.

He glanced sideways at Danny. "You want to, right?" They had a plan, but his plan had never involved a particular target.

"Why not?" Danny flashed a smile at him and shrugged. "Might as well think big."

Rusty nodded and they continued to wander towards the door. He let Danny walk through first, and the moment he did, a man and a woman came shoving through the door from the other side, the woman objecting briskly to whatever the man had just said.

"No, this _is _a complete waste of my time, and I don't care how many rounds of golf your boss has played with mine. The truth is there is no reason _at all _to think that the Night Fox has - "

Rusty wasn't quite quick enough to move out of her way and she wasn't paying quite enough attention to avoid walking straight into him.

The files she'd been carrying scattered all over the floor and he bent down to help her pick them up, partly out of politeness, mostly out of a need to cover the momentary panic that had threatened to overwhelm him at the unexpected contact, hide it from the woman, hide it from Danny and hide it from himself.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically.

"No, no, it was my fault," she corrected immediately, looking up at him. Their eyes met. She was beautiful, he noted absently. Dark-haired, dark-eyed and beautiful. And a cop. "Oh. Hi," she breathed quietly.

She was staring at him and there was something in her expression he didn't understand, and he suddenly thought; if _he _could tell that _she _was a cop, then maybe....

He looked away quickly and carried on gathering her papers together, glancing at them as casually as he knew how. _Oh. _He didn't stare but it took an effort. Sometimes his luck was unbelievable. He made a pile and passed it back to her with a dazzling smile. "Here you go."

"Thank you." She smiled graciously back at him and watched as he stood up. "I hope I bump into you again sometime?"

"Maybe," he allowed with another smile, and his eyes were already seeking out Danny, waiting in the doorway for him, looking slightly tense and slightly worried.

"Found a cop?" Danny asked in a low voice as they walked away.

"Uh huh," Rusty agreed and gave it a moment. "A cop carrying the complete schematics of the alarm and security system."

Danny blinked. Not the sort of luck that anyone normally dared hope for. "How much did you get?"

"I only saw it for a couple of seconds," Rusty pointed out.

"But how much did you get?" Danny repeated.

Rusty grinned. "We're going to need a lot of paper," he said happily.

They left the museum and found a nice little café by the river. "It's one of Tess' favourites," Danny said suddenly. "The Cardsharps."

"Oh," Rusty said slowly, sipping at his hot chocolate. He didn't know what Danny was thinking. He really didn't. Danny missed Tess, that was always obvious, but it was so much more complicated than that. "We could give it to her," he suggested, watching for Danny's reaction.

Danny's reaction was to stare blankly at him.

He shrugged. "We could give it to her _anonymously_?" he offered instead.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Priceless painting gets delivered to her house. You don't think she's going to suspect us?"

He shook his head and concentrated on his hot chocolate and he was no closer to deciphering Danny's feelings. Just a lot of unfinished business. "You should see her," he stated.

"How come you never actually went anywhere with this plan when you were here before?" Danny asked, and the subject of Tess was clearly nowhere on the table.

Rusty stared at the smudge of cream slowly trailing down the edge of his cup. "I didn't think of any plans when I was here before," he said eventually. "A woman took me here on a date."

Her name was Louisa. She'd been doing a doctorate in art history. They'd spent almost a week together, running from museum to gallery to restaurant. And then back to her place. He remembered how it had felt and how much he'd _liked _it and he shuddered. And he wondered darkly if she had really wanted it as much as she said she had. It seemed impossible to him now. Unthinkable.

"Hey," Danny's hand was suddenly on his and he jerked back quickly, knocking his cup to the floor, smashing it to pieces.

He met Danny's eyes almost unwillingly, and he acknowledged and did his best to dismiss the depth of concern there. "Sorry," he said quietly.

Danny nodded and bent to pick up the shards of crockery from the floor, waving Rusty away before he even started to move. "It's okay," he said, and it was more of a question than a statement.

"I figured the plan out a few years later," he said after a moment.

"Oh," Danny said and by the look on his face he'd worked it out exactly.

"Lot of time to think in solitary," Rusty commented with a twist of a smile. That was why he needed to see the museum again so badly. Why he'd needed Danny to see. He'd been so scared that time and circumstances had decayed his thinking.

"Oh, Rusty," Danny said softly, and Rusty knew that Danny was feeling helpless again and he smiled quickly across the table.

"Yes," he promised. "It's okay. Really."

Danny nodded slowly. "What do you want to do to kill the alarms? Needs to be timed."

He'd been thinking about that. "Yeah. We need Roman."

"Right." Danny smiled suddenly. "Better hope that Matsui can get us a good price, then."

There was silence for a few moments. "Tess likes The Cardsharps?" Rusty said eventually.

Danny shrugged. "Don't think she ever made any connections."

"Right."

* * *

The next few days went by quickly. And Danny had to force himself not to get too caught up in the buzz of it all.

Thing was, the Benedict job had been amazing. Objectively. Crime of the decade time. But there'd been no real chance of him enjoying it the way he could have. The way he should have. Not with Carson always there, breathing down their necks, threatening them, hurting Rusty. Not when he'd spent most of the build up to the actual job ignoring Rusty, trying to convince himself that none of the feelings were there anymore. Not when he'd eventually learned everything he now knew.

But _this....._This was just him, Rusty and a wild and unlikely plan. This was _fantastic._

And it was easy for the magic to take over. Danny couldn't risk forgetting that Rusty was still lost and brittle. Still inclined to jump at sudden noises.

Rusty came first and second and always. This job was way down his list of priorities and he watched Rusty all the time, making sure that they were doing nothing that made Rusty uncomfortable.

Matsui had been delighted to see them again. And more than happy to find a buyer for the potential Caravaggio.

Of course, that hadn't stopped it hurting when Matsui had frowned at them the moment they walked in.

"You've lost weight," he told Rusty, once the social niceties were done, and he threw a glance at Danny. "You ought to feed him more, no?"

Danny smiled and wished he'd had the opportunity. "You can bring a horse water...." he commented, and Matsui laughed and they'd got down to business.

It was when they were leaving that Matsui had cleared his throat awkwardly. "I've heard a lot of rumours over the last few years," he said, looking closely at each of them in turn. "I'm glad to see they were all wrong."

Rusty grinned, which was good because Danny couldn't think of a damned thing to say. "Gossip, man. You know how it is."

Matsui had laughed and nodded and the rest had passed uneventfully.

Day by day the details fell into place – Rusty found the Wednesday night lecture and that gave them the date and they met with Roman who was able to give them everything they needed. And Rusty seemed to be doing better. Enjoying himself.

That didn't mean Danny was happy when he realised he would need to leave Rusty alone.

"No," he said flatly. "Not going to happen."

Rusty sighed. "It's necessary, Danny. You need to get into the security office. I need to get into the appraisal department. We can't do that together."

Then they shouldn't do that at all, he wanted to protest, but the look on Rusty's face stopped him.

"We need to do this," Rusty told him quietly. "_I _need to do this. I need to know that there's more to life than....I need to know I'm getting better. I need to prove I can cope. That I'm more than....I need to do this, Danny."

"You never need to prove anything to me," Danny said immediately.

"It's not you I'm trying to convince," Rusty said with a slight smile.

"I know," Danny said heavily. That was the only reason he'd gone along with this in the first place. The only reason that he knew he was going to end up going along with it now. All the way through the Benedict job and for every day since, he'd seen that Rusty's self-confidence and self-esteem weren't what they should be. And Danny wasn't going to run the risk of causing any more damage. If Rusty needed to do this then they'd do this. Because he could see the danger, true enough, but he could see the danger of not trusting Rusty even clearer. That didn't mean he couldn't _try. _"You're brilliant, though, Rus'. You've got to know that. Nothing that's happened in the last four years has come _close _to changing that."

Rusty grinned. "Doesn't work, Danny. Not from you. It's like the kid whose mom tells her she can sing like Mariah Carey."

"You sing like Snoopy," Danny said immediately.

Rolling his eyes, Rusty went on. "You can't tell me that you'd...." He hesitated.

"Love you," Danny supplied gently.

"....right," Rusty nodded in hesitant agreement. "You can't tell me that you'd feel that _anyway_ and then turn round and say that actually I am the same. You're not objective, Danny. You never will be."

Danny took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm not objective. But I am _right."_

Rusty reached out and clasped his hand tightly. "I'm sorry, Danny," he said. "I need to do this."

Of course, just because he understood Rusty's motivations and acknowledged the need didn't mean that he didn't hate every minute of it.

The security pass, work-request form and toolbox got him into the security room easily enough. And from there it was just a question of balancing a cup of water on the very edge of the photocopier, pretending to fix the radiator and waiting until the next time someone opened the door and the cup of water was blown down. At which point, the photocopier had started making strange noises and, while everyone stood up to get a better look, Danny slipped the disc into the central computer. Easy.

Now, apparently, all Roman had to do was send an email. And, equally apparently, when someone checked the disc that had mysteriously appeared in the security room, all it would show was porn. Which would make it completely believable when no one owned up to owning it.

He left a few minutes later, confident in the knowledge that the central heating would work neither better nor worse than when he'd arrived.

Thing was, his part only took an hour. An hour and a half, max. Rusty's took all afternoon. And that left Danny pacing round and round their hotel room, telling himself over and over again that Rusty would be _fine. _That Rusty would be back in time, safe and sound. That none of the many, many, _many _things that he could imagine going wrong _would _go wrong.

He took a deep breath and waited some more. This was agony.

* * *

Rusty was having fun, he really was. It was almost frighteningly easy to lose himself in the Professor Maxwell act. To be someone else completely. Definitely an attraction.

And the con was working just as it should be. He would bet all of Benedict's money that no one suspected a thing. He'd turned up this morning and told the tall man standing next to Dr Van Biers that he looked exactly the way he'd imagined he would from the emails. At which point the _real _Dr Van Biers had crisply introduced herself, and from that point on things had gone exactly as he'd planned. Badly. If he really was Professor Maxwell, that was. He'd managed to be both boring _and _awkward, to the point where he'd successfully alienated every single person he'd come into contact with. Meaning that they left him to his own devices. Meaning that no one noticed when he received specially couriered parcels and no-one cared _what _he archived away in the storage room. And giving him every opportunity to lift Dr Van Biers access card, clone it using Roman's handheld machine and plant the card back on her without her ever knowing. That machine of Roman's was very, very useful. Too bad Roman had made it absolutely clear that he was lending it to them, not selling it to them. Apparently a lot of the miniaturisation technology was in the middle of some bizarre patent war.

He was peering earnestly at a nice 18th century vase that he was absolutely confident had been made in the last five years when someone walked up behind him and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched. Jumped. Fumbled the vase and it fell out of his hands it it was only with the very tips of his fingers that he managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

He took the barest of seconds and he managed to get himself under control. Just about under control. He knew he was shaking and he wouldn't trust himself to stand up and he _wanted Danny. _But he wasn't actually crying or screaming. And that was good.

With a smile that was hopefully somewhere in the region of embarrassed apology he looked up. Dr Van Biers was staring at him, wide-eyed. "I'm so sorry," he said simply. "I'm afraid you startled me."

"I was just coming to tell you that I'm going to be locking up in about ten minutes and I was wondering if you were done?"

He blinked and there were parts of his mind that were a thousand miles away and living a thousand different moments and he was trying so hard to stay on top and not see any of them. "Of course. I'm done here, thank you. Oh, this is a forgery, by the way. A pretty one, though."

She studied the vase for a moment and nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Professor Maxwell." Her smile still looked a little troubled and his fingernails were digging into his palm, and as soon as he thought it wouldn't look suspicious, he was out of there, running straight back home to Danny.

Danny took one look at him and Rusty could see the fear and the need burning in him, and he struggled forwards quickly and wrapped his arms round Danny and Danny pulled him closer and he felt a little safer. A little more like he was ready for this.

"We're on for tonight," he murmured softly into Danny's chest.

* * *

Isabel stared at empty space where the missing wall should be and fought the urge to smile. It shouldn't be funny, it really shouldn't. Especially not to her. But somehow it was.

"Didn't I tell you?" the curator spluttered behind her. "This is what our tax money gets us. Police who don't listen."

"This wasn't the Night Fox," she told him absently. "It's not at all his style. Also no figurine was left. He's very consistent." No, this had been someone else entirely. And she had no idea who. But whoever he was, he was quite clearly brilliant.

It took her most of the day to piece it together, working from the beginning. There had been a lecture on in the ground theatre that evening. On the science of patina differential analysis. It sounded exquisitely dull, but that was how the thief – or thieves, rather – had got in. There'd been no attendance record, no signing in sheet – nothing to say, when all the fire alarms went off and the place was evacuated, whether everyone had indeed left the building. But her money was on most definitely not. Her money was on two of them having taken the opportunity to sneak up to the third floor.

That had also been the moment when every security camera in the place had cut out for ten minutes. Interpol computer experts had managed to explain _that _one by tracing it to a very clever little timed virus. It was far beyond anything that most of them had ever seen. Apparently it would have had to be uploaded directly onto the computer in the security centre. She had no idea how they'd done that.

Still, ten minutes apparently hadn't been enough for the thieves to disable the sensors on the painting itself.

So they'd removed the wall instead.

It was just a plyboard section, bolted to the wall of the room, giving the museum extra space to hang pictures. And the thieves, rightly figuring that no-one would have alarmed them, had cut smoothly through the bolts and taken the entire section of wall down to the appraisals department to work on it at their leisure. She had no idea how they'd managed to get access. Certainly she had no idea how they'd managed to smuggle in all the equipment they'd need to remove the painting from the wall and leave the wall leaning forlornly against the head of department's desk. After that all they'd needed to do was conceal the painting and walk out of the museum. And she knew how they'd done _that._

Sixteen firemen had entered the museum to check out the alarm. Eighteen firemen had left. She'd counted them leaving. And two of them had been carrying some painting-sized equipment that she was certain she hadn't seen going into the building.

She knew that, and when she was confident that no-one would see the knowledge made her smile. But all she really had, as far as suspects went, was that she was looking for two men in helmets and rubber boots. She had no suspects and no evidence that she could hope to use against them even if she did, and she'd already tried all her normal contacts. Either no one knew anything or else no one was talking. Already she had a horrible feeling that this investigation was going nowhere.

The only real idea she had was to review all the security camera footage in the museum for the past few weeks, looking for anyone who might have been paying more attention to the walls than the paintings.

It was an unbelievable long shot. And it would have stood no chance if she hadn't recognised one of them. She'd actually seen him that day though, when he'd been there, in the museum. She'd bumped into him, he'd helped her pick her things up. And he'd been the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. But more than that, when he'd smiled at her, she'd felt a distinct and wonderful frisson of...._something. _Something more than just sexual tension. She'd been sure that he must be feeling it too and she'd been so disappointed when he showed absolutely no signs of pursuing any of the signals she'd offered, and she'd spent the rest of the day – and a fair percentage of the next few days, actually, if she was being completely honest with herself – cursing herself for not making the first move. Inviting him out to dinner or something.

And now he was a thief. And she was never going to be able to prove that.

Still, there were a few things. She could check the databases for a match, for both him and his accomplice. And he was American so it might be worth checking with the FBI.

* * *

Rusty hung up the phone and didn't look at Danny.

He'd called Saul. As he made sure to always do now, since last week when he'd had to call to explain – or, rather, to not explain – why neither he nor Danny had been answering their phones, and to reassure Saul that they were both fine.

He had to phone Saul because that way it wasn't unexpected and he could prepare himself mentally. Push all the thoughts of his nightmare out of his mind. Didn't matter that it hadn't happened. Didn't matter that it never could happen. Didn't even matter that he thought that maybe just the knowledge that Rusty could _imagine _it happening would be enough to break Saul's heart. The fact remained that he could _remember _how it had felt and how much it had hurt. He could remember begging like he never had in his life.

He could only hope that the memories faded soon. Trouble was, that wasn't how his mind worked.

"Saul alright?" Danny asked casually.

"Yeah," Rusty nodded. "Though apparently the house he's buying is going to need some work. The stairs are upside-down or something."

"Huh." Danny gave this due consideration. "Previously owned - "

" - by David Bowie," Rusty nodded. "Yeah."

They grinned at each other and Danny went back to flipping through his Flemish newspaper, looking for the funnies.

Rusty leaned back over the edge of the bed and stared dizzily up at the ceiling. Three days since the museum job and he was doing better. He knew Danny thought so too. Danny didn't think twice now before leaving him to go to the bathroom or to go up to the bar for more drinks, or whatever. He thought that he could probably be out of Danny's sight for, oh, maybe up to five minutes before Danny started panicking.

And the nightmares were less frequent. Maybe only one or two a night. Still just as intense, still just as terrifying, but less often surely had to be a good sign. And he hadn't even _thought _about hurting himself in days, and he hardly flinched at all now when Danny touched him. Anyone else...well, that was different.

Point was, he was feeling better. More like himself. More in control.

And so much of that – maybe all of that – was because of Danny, and every time he looked at Danny he wanted to smile. And most times he did.

* * *

Robert Ryan was his name, Isabel had discovered. The FBI had taken more than a day to get back to her, but in the end they'd more than come through.

Robert Charles Ryan. Recently – very recently – of the New Jersey penal system. Previously implicated in a long string of confidence tricks and schemes, most of them committed with Daniel Ocean, the other man in the museum. She read over the brief arrest record, frowning. There were a few things that didn't add up here. A few vital steps that seemed to have been skipped over. It looked like they'd been trying to arrest Ocean and instead they'd got Robert and then – nothing. If _she'd _been the arresting officer she'd definitely have put more time and effort into checking out Ocean's alibi. Still, that wasn't her current problem. Apparently Robert had got out of jail last month, met up with Ocean, and they'd picked up right where they'd left off. Only on her patch.

She sighed. There was still no evidence. She might know who he – _they –_ were, and she might be confident of the fact that if they were still in Europe she'd be able to find _where _they were, but while she might have enough to arrest them, well. They wouldn't even need a _good _lawyer. They'd be released in less than an hour, she'd put money on it.

Still. There was probably no harm in tracking them down anyway. Just to know where they were. Just to be sure that they weren't planning anything else. Maybe just to let him know that he wasn't as clever as he thought.

"Robert," she said out loud, looking at the photo, and she thought of his smile, and the name suited him.

* * *

The timing was unfortunate and Danny wasn't at all happy about it.

Matsui had finally come through with a buyer – or rather, the buyer that Matsui had lined up last week had finally agreed a time to meet – and the buyer had insisted on at least one of them being present at the exchange. And, at the exact same time, Roman was supposed to be meeting them at the airport so they could return the cloning machine. And, since someone was apparently paying Roman twenty thousand dollars to be in New York by that evening, that was _also _non-negotiable.

Possibly stupidly, Danny had pointed out that Roman only ever charged them ten grand in appearance fees. To which Roman had calmly replied that yes, but their problems tended to be at least _interesting _and usually complicated.

They were choosing to take that as a compliment. More or less.

And so Danny was going to deal with Matsui and the buyer and Rusty was going to deal with Roman, and they would meet back in the bar as soon as possible.

That was the plan, anyway. He hadn't quite allowed for the buyer wanting to keep him there until she'd finished inspecting every inch of her new property, to make absolutely certain that he wasn't trying to con her.

He sighed as she brought out a magnifying glass and a UV penlight.

Oh, this was going to be a _really _long afternoon.

* * *

Isabel checked her reflection in the glass door leading to the Pulitzer bar and told herself firmly that she absolutely had not just done that. Robert Ryan was sitting at the bar. She'd seen him. Sipping whiskey slowly and looking like he was waiting for someone.

Okay. She took a deep breath and walked slowly up to the bar and sat down on the stool next to him, managing to surreptitiously drag it a comfortable couple of inches closer to him.

He only looked round at her very briefly, but she saw the flicker of recognition and she tried to keep her involuntary stab of glee hidden away. It was nice to be remembered. Nice to think that she must have made just as much of an impact on him as he had on her.

Still, if he was as good as she thought he was, she probably shouldn't have been surprised when he quickly finished his drink, stood up and made to leave.

She had to make it clear that she wasn't here on official police business or anything of the sort. That she was an intriguing non-threat. "Hey, where do you think you're going, Robert?" she asked, letting rich amusement and the promise of flirt fill her voice.

His back was to her when he froze, and when he turned round he was smiling lightly. "Nowhere, I guess." He sat back down and she noticed him glancing anxiously towards the door.

"You're waiting for someone," she noted. "A date?"

"No!" he denied quickly, and she liked the idea that he wanted her to know he was available.

"Ocean, then," she concluded.

"Danny?" He blinked. "He flew home weeks back."

She knew that wasn't true. "So you're telling me you robbed the Rijksmuseum on your own?"

He hesitated and for one, surprisingly awful moment, she was sure that he was thinking about confessing. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said instead, at last.

"Of course not, Robert," she agreed affably and she realised that she was making a conscious decision not to push it.

He smiled at her, just as dazzling as before, and for a moment she _knew _it was absolutely worth it. "Now, you know my name, but I'd swear we haven't been introduced."

"Isabel Lahiri," she told him sweetly.

He nodded. "Of the Amsterdam police department?"

"Of Interpol, actually," she corrected.

"Of course." He smiled. "My apologies. And what do Interpol want with me?"

"Right now? To buy you a drink." She caught the barman's eye. "A glass of dry white wine and a...whisky?" She glanced at him and he nodded tightly. "A whisky. Thank you."

Drinks were poured and brought and paid for in silence. Their fingers met when she passed him his glass and she felt a bolt of electricity. He jumped but he didn't draw his hand back, and he certainly didn't object when she took his hand, twining their fingers together.

She raised her glass with her free hand. "Cheers," she said ironically and he joined in the toast mutely.

"Interpol alright with their officers drinking on duty?" he asked with a quirk of his lips.

She caught his eye deliberately and smiled slowly and seductively. "What makes you think this isn't about pleasure," she murmured softly.

His breath hitched and he glanced away from her quickly, staring at the floor and he laid his glass down heavily on the bar, almost like it had slipped from his fingers. For a second she frowned, troubled, but he didn't try and pull his hand away from hers, and after a moment he looked up at her, his smile blinding, his eyes lowered flirtatiously. "I suppose I can be pleasing. If you want me to be."

She caught her top lip between her teeth and she wished she could see his eyes but even so..."Oh, I'm sure you could," she said, just managing to resist the urge to grab him and rip his clothes off right there in the bar.

His eyes dropped to the floor again. "So what does Interpol want with me?" he asked again.

"Well, you know how it is, Robert," she said, and her eyes travelled slowly up and down his body. "You're the kind of guy a lot of people would like to see in handcuffs." She licked her lips seductively and leaned forwards, just enough to let him see a hint of flesh and a glint of metal.

* * *

This was a familiar-feeling hell. He'd recognised her the moment she sat down next to him. The cop from the museum. Somehow, at some point, they'd been made. But she'd come here on her own. Unofficially and off duty, though undoubtedly that could change at any moment. But clearly she wasn't wanting to arrest him. And if she wasn't wanting to arrest him, there was only one other thing she could possibly want from him.

He'd wanted to run. From the moment he'd heard Moffatt's familiar words coming from her mouth, he'd wanted to run. He _still _wanted to run. But she'd mentioned Danny and the threat had been obvious. He was to sit still and let her do whatever she wanted, or she'd arrest Danny. And he wasn't going to let that happen.

Her hand holding his was all he could think of. A constant, unbearable pressure and he wondered if that too was a threat. Wondered if she was trying to tell him that she'd hurt him if he tried to run. Or maybe it was a test. Well, he wasn't fighting. He would be as submissive and compliant, just like Carson liked him.

It was only a matter of time before she took him someplace quieter, he knew that. He could see the way she was looking at him. And though he wasn't quite sure of all the layers, he recognised the sexual interest. Lust and anticipation. And unlike Carson, she really did want him in that way. And he was going to have to oblige.

Thing was, he knew he couldn't actually give her what she wanted. No matter what she threatened him with, physically it just wasn't an option. But he could be useful to her in other ways, he supposed. Could please her. And he felt himself dying at just the _thought. _He had to get through this, he reminded himself. The alternative was prison, and not just for him. Next to that, what was spending an hour or so with his head forced between a woman's legs?

He could only hope that she hadn't really meant it about the handcuffs. He didn't think he could keep from screaming. Didn't think he could keep from losing it completely.

* * *

"Would you like to come out to dinner with me, Robert?" she asked hopefully. "I know this little Thai place nearby that's outstanding."

He frowned at her and drew back slightly, and it was as if the conversation had taken a turn that he couldn't quite follow, and again she felt troubled, like she was missing something important, and it felt like she was losing something, and she pressed on quickly, desperate and reckless.

She leaned in close and laid a hand intimately on his thigh. "Or, if you'd rather, my apartment's not very far. I could cook you something, maybe?"

He smiled at her. "Yes," he said distantly. "That sounds fine."

"Good," she said warmly, stroking her hand gently up his thigh, eager to recapture the moment. "I'm not exactly a gourmet chef, but I do a mean spaghetti carbonara. And as far as I remember, I've got some ice-cream, some cherries, some chocolate sauce and some whipped cream. I'm sure I'll be able to put on something...tasty....for dessert."

"Lovely," he smiled again, and there was something in his eyes that frightened her.

She leaned forwards and squeezed his thigh tenderly. "Robert? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," he told her simply. "Don't worry."

She was about to ask again, about to make sure, when a man's voice broke in sharply from behind her.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Turning quickly, cursing herself for not even realising that anyone was near, she looked up to see a very unamused-looking Daniel Ocean.

Flushing, she was ready to protest that she hadn't done anything wrong when she suddenly wondered why he'd care. Unless, of course, there was something going on between them that wasn't covered in the brief FBI file. Unless, of course, they were lovers and Ocean was reasonably acting the jealous boyfriend. She looked back at Robert quickly, more than half-expecting to see guilt and apology there.

She didn't.

He was looking at Ocean and the expression on his face....sheer, naked relief and more than that, a hint of absolute fear. As if ….as if he felt like Ocean was saving him from something. As if he felt like Ocean was saving him from _her. _

Ocean was staring down at where her hand was still resting on Robert's thigh. "This the way police in Amsterdam _usually _arrest people?" he demanded, and she could _see _the fury, she just couldn't quite understand it.

She snatched her hand away quickly. "As far as I'm able to prove neither of you have done anything to merit being arrested."

"Oh, that's what you say now," Ocean spat. "And then if Rus'....if we don't cooperate, you produce photos of us stealing Queen Beatrix's purse or something, right?"

She blinked, offended and horrified in equal amounts. "I would _never _do that. I'm a respected law enforcement - "

" - _Take your fucking hands off him right now!_"

She hadn't even realised she was still holding Robert's hand She let go immediately and watched as Robert seemed to relax, as if an impossible weight had been taken from him. As if he'd been trying not to scream all the time she'd been touching him."

She thought about Ocean's conviction that she'd fake evidence, and about the inconsistencies in the arrest report, and about the moment when she'd thought that Robert would confess, and how eager to please he had been since then. She felt sick. "I thought you wanted it," she said weakly, staring at Robert.

She actually saw the shudder of denial and revulsion that rippled through him.

"If you were a man, I'd break your jaw," Ocean said fiercely and his fists were clenched tightly.

"Danny," Robert said softly, and he stood up and walked towards Ocean. "'S'okay. Nothing's hurt." He turned to look at her, and she could see the deadness in his eyes and she wanted to look away. "We free to go, Ms Lahiri?"

"Yes, of course." She swallowed with difficulty. "I'm so sorry."

Ocean looked at her sharply and then looked over at Robert, and when he looked back at her there was something close to understanding in his eyes. Definitely no sympathy. But understanding nonetheless.

She watched them walk out the bar and she couldn't help but hope she never saw them again.

* * *

It had been just like the night before the Benedict job. Danny had walked into the bar and right away he'd seen the cop standing too close, seen the way she was eyeing Rusty, the way she was pawing at him; and he'd seen the way Rusty was sitting, tense and miserable, passive in hell. He'd seen at a glance the casual abuse of power, Rusty forced to submit to authority, being taken advantage of. For a moment he wasn't totally sure if he was looking at the cop or Carson, and he'd been in danger of being overwhelmed by ice and murderous rage.

Neither of them had seen him. And all he'd wanted was to run across the floor and tear her off Rusty, make sure that she never even thought about touching him ever again.

He hadn't though. She was a cop and he had no doubt that if he charged in like that there would have been a physical confrontation, and _no one_ would have been on their side, and there was no way he'd have managed to persuade Rusty to stay out of it, and it could surely could only end with both of them in jail.

Instead he'd walked up behind them. Drew attention to himself. And the hell and the sheer _relief _on Rusty's face had been agony, and _she – _the cop – she'd just looked up at him like _he _was interrupting. Like he was the one at fault.

He really had wanted to kill her. Even more when she said she thought Rusty wanted it. And he got, eventually, that she really had, that she'd thought her attentions were welcomed and consensual, but that didn't make it forgiveable .She should have _known. _She should have been able to see what she was doing. Some mistakes you didn't get to take back.

Rusty was shaking as he walked out of the bar, and he wouldn't look at Danny. And Danny longed to take him in his arms, longed to promise that everything would be alright, but he could see just by looking at Rusty that it just wasn't a good idea right now. Rusty was past the point where Danny was confident of being recognised, confident of being understood.

Instead he followed Rusty as he staggered out into the street and blindly strode away from the hotel, and Danny stayed close to him and murmured reassuring words as Rusty stumbled to a halt in an alley, leaning forwards, his hands pressed hard against the brickwork.

"I'm still here, Rus'. We're okay. Nothing's going to happen."

All he wanted to do was to keep Rusty here, keep Rusty in the present, keep Rusty _safe, _and he watched as Rusty's hands curled convulsively, as Rusty gouged at the wall with his fingernails.

"I'm _here," _he promised, like it meant something.

After eternity, Rusty looked up at him. "I want to get out of here."

"Then we will," he said immediately. No questions, no debates. He hadn't thought that Rusty would feel safe back at the hotel anyway.

"Right away from here. Far away from here," Rusty insisted and his voice was blank and haunted.

"Yes," Danny said simply and he realised that Rusty meant leaving the city at the very least.

"Danny, I want to go _home," _Rusty said desperately and Danny's heart broke.

* * *

He put his trust in Danny. Let Danny lead him away, let Danny take care of him. There was a taxi and an airport and a plane, and Danny smiled at the cabin crew and explained that his brother was a nervous flyer, and there were sympathetic glances and they were left to themselves and no one could see when he clutched Danny's hand like he was drowning.

He knew he wasn't talking much and he knew how that was frightening Danny, but it was all he could do to stay above the dark water, even with Danny there, reassuring and comforting and forever. He squeezed Danny's fingers from time to time, and it was a promise of his own.

_(He wasn't going to leave Danny again.)_

_

* * *

_

Home. Danny had done the best he could. Thing was, home to Rusty had always been people, not places. And he was there, of course, he was always there, and if that wasn't enough he wasn't sure what else he had to offer. And he'd thought about taking Rusty to Saul or maybe even to Reuben, but he hadn't missed that there was something wrong there, right now. Some pain, some awkward agony.

He didn't _have _a home to offer Rusty; they had nowhere permanent. No possessions even. He had some stuff that he'd left in the hotel room when he'd gone chasing after Rusty. Rather more that he'd put in long-term storage after the divorce. Rusty didn't even have that. He hadn't had any legal right to the apartment he'd been living in when he was arrested. All of Rusty's things would have been thrown out and Danny hadn't lifted a finger to stop it.

_Home _meant four years ago. He knew that. Home meant a time and place when the world hadn't been so frightening. When nothing could stop them. When life had come easy. And Danny couldn't give Rusty any of that.

Rusty didn't _have _a home for Danny to take him to. But he'd done his best. A hotel overlooking the Hudson. They'd stayed there before. Often before. Going all the way back to when they were just getting started. They'd even laid up and healed there once or twice. The owner was understanding, discreet and absolutely incurious and it had always felt safe in the past.

Nothing had changed since the last time they'd been here. Same silent hallways, same warm rooms, same comfortable bed, same brand of malt waiting for them on the table, same squares of chocolate left lying on the pillows.

Danny felt himself relaxing from the moment he stepped into the room, the familiar surroundings instantly comforting.

He turned to Rusty, hopeful that he might be feeling the same things. But Rusty was staring at the bed, his eyes wide and frightened. Danny took a step forwards but before he could say anything, Rusty's expression had twisted with anger and he had thrown himself towards the bed, snatched the chocolate off the pillow and crushed it in his hands. As Danny stared he threw the remained into the trash can.

He turned to look at Danny and he looked angry and embarrassed.

"Chocolate is bad?" Danny asked softly.

Rusty sighed and rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Sometimes."

* * *

He'd appreciated it when Danny led him to the hotel. Memories of being here with Danny overlaid some of the confusion in his head. As _home _went, it wasn't too bad.

And then he'd stepped into the room and he'd seen the chocolate on the pillow and for a second he'd really been sure that Moffatt must have got there before them. When he realised that was impossible he'd been so angry at himself. So stupid.

Danny was still looking at him and Rusty sighed again and leaned back against the wall, staring blankly out the window at the twinkling lights of the city.

"_He _used to leave chocolate on my bed. Mostly chocolate. Sometimes other candy. Told me once that he knew I liked sweet things. That he knew I was always hungry." Actually, Moffatt had said that he knew that Rusty always wanted something in his mouth. But maybe Danny didn't need to know that. "Later on he'd say it was because I'd done something to please him. He'd never say _what _and I never really knew if I actually had, somehow, or if he was just fucking with my head."

"He gave you chocolates?" Danny said and his voice was almost unrecognisable.

"I never ate them," Rusty told him quickly. "Thing is, He started long before he was actually fucking me. Just a couple of times, those first two years. Anonymous bars of chocolate." He remembered how disturbed he'd been at the time. And then he'd seen how the packets had been opened and he'd sniffed at the chocolate and there'd been a musty, musky smell that had made him feel sick. "But he did it while I still belonged to...to the other man. The one who hurt me."

"_You've never belonged to anyone," _Danny said fiercely. "_Never, _Rus'."

Rusty hesitated. Because he hadn't thought that was actually what he meant. "No but..." He struggled to understand himself and he rubbed absently at his shoulder. "That was how everyone else saw it. I belonged to him so everyone else left me alone. I mean, he was a big guy. A very big...no-one wanted to fight him for me. But _He _was watching me, all that time. And I never knew." He sighed. "And now, I just saw the chocolate and....I don't think I like surprises."

He didn't look at Danny's face, not wanting to know that Danny understood, that Danny hurt, that Danny hated Moffatt more than anyone else ever could, that Danny wanted to hold him close and kiss him and make everything all right again. Instead, he crossed to the table and poured each of them a drink, took his to the windowsill and sat down.

The glass was cool against his face. The whiskey was warming. He pretended he was staring out at the city and kept his eyes on Danny's reflection.

It helped a little. When, in his head, he felt her hands on him again. Felt desire and insistence and felt himself let it happen.

"She wanted me," he said out loud and in the window he watched the pain in Danny's eyes.

* * *

"She wanted me," he heard Rusty say and it wasn't like he could deny it.

"Yeah," he agreed softly, and he hadn't forgotten her hand on Rusty's thigh or the look in Rusty's eyes "But I don't think....I don't think she meant to hurt you, Rus', I really don't. I know she _did_, but I think maybe things just got out of hand."

"She wanted me," Rusty said again and his voice was blank and dead.

"She liked you," Danny offered and he knew as soon as he said it that it wasn't going to help.

Rusty laughed darkly and pressed his hand flat against the window. "Carson liked me. _He _liked me. Lots of people like me. I'm a popular guy."

It hurt. "Stop," he said quietly.

"It felt the same," Rusty went on. "Like Carson, I mean. I hated that then, Danny. I hate it now."

Danny bit his lip. "Rus'...."

"You thought about the fact that if she didn't want to hurt me then we just fled the continent because a woman hit on me in a bar?" Rusty asked offhandedly.

"I said she didn't want to hurt you. I never said she _didn't_ hurt you," Danny said firmly. "I know she did. I saw."

"Not a scratch," Rusty said lightly.

"Not the point." Danny insisted. "You didn't know she wasn't going to arrest you. You didn't know what she was looking for."

"She said she thought I wanted it," Rusty said and Danny could _hear _the quiver of self disgust and fought hard to quell the snarl of outrage.

"You didn't," he said tightly. "I _know _you didn't. It wasn't your fault. You did nothing."

"But I did," Rusty said blankly, staring out the window. "I must have."

"_What?" _he breathed, hardly believing what he'd just heard.

There was a long pause and when Rusty spoke it was like he was struggling to get the words out. "Look, I know what people see when they look at me. Weakness. An easy target. You can't deny it, Danny. Fuck,we've traded on it often enough in the past. And that's what she saw. That's what Carson saw. That's why he picked on me."

Danny wanted to scream at him. Rusty wasn't weak. Rusty had never been weak. If it wasn't so awful it might even be laughable. "He picked on you because we set it up that way. The Verbal was an act, remember?"

Rusty's hand struck against the window sharply. "We both know damn well it wasn't! Carson saw weakness and used it and - "

" - he was _wrong," _Danny cut in fiercely. "He was wrong, which is why he's in jail waiting to be tried and we're - "

" - hiding in a hotel room, afraid of _everything," _Rusty finished bitterly.

Danny paused for a moment and again he could hear the self-disgust in Rusty's voice and it wasn't _fair_. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," he told Rusty.

"Yes I do," Rusty said quietly.

"No. You don't." He wanted Rusty to know that. Needed Rusty to believe him.

"I look like an easy target, Danny," Rusty told him seriously. "People are going to take advantage of that."

And they weren't just talking about the cop any more. They weren't even talking about Carson and Danny could taste the horror in the back of his mouth. "That's no excuse for rape. There _is _no excuse. There's no way in which it was your fault."

There was a pause and Rusty's shoulders were tense. "It's not....I wasn't....It wasn't _rape _Danny."

"_What?" _he said blankly, when he could no longer try to convince himself that he'd misheard.

For the first time Rusty turned round to face him, stubborn defiance burning in his eyes. "It wasn't rape. I wasn't raped."

"Rus'....." He stood up slowly, took a step closer, his hand stretched out, and he needed to touch, needed the reassurance, the reconnection, and he _knew w_hat had happened, what they hadn't been talking about all these weeks. "Rus', I _know _remember? I saw..." He swallowed hard and he hated just _remembering_, but he couldn't let Rusty cut him out. Couldn't let Rusty tell him it hadn't happened. "I saw the photos."

Rusty stood up quickly and started pacing round the room, agitation in every step, looking anywhere but at Danny. "No, I mean, _yes, _he fucked me, they fucked me...but that doesn't make it...it wasn't _like _that, Danny."

It felt like he was losing his grip on the world. Falling down the fucking rabbit hole. He couldn't stand this. Couldn't bear to listen to the words Rusty was saying. Couldn't bear to know that Rusty was being absolutely sincere. That Rusty's head was full of every single thing that had happened, every single thing those bastards had done to him – and he could look at that and say it wasn't....He thought he could drown in this anger. This horror. This terror.

"It was, Rus'. I'm sorry. It was. He held you down and hurt you and forced you. That's rape. I'm sorry." The words tasted like betrayal.

"You make it sound simple," Rusty said bitterly, stopping dead in the middle of the floor, turning round to look at him.

"It _is _simple," Danny insisted. It was. Cut and dried. Black and white. Obvious. A screaming, awful truth.

"Look, I'm not saying it wasn't wrong," Rusty told him, staring at the floor, his fingers twisting repetitively together. "It was wrong, it should neverhave happened, but it wasn't....." He bit his lip. "I had a _choice_."

"Oh, _Rus'," _he breathed and the horror lived in his soul. "No. No." That wasn't true. That wasn't even a little bit true, but Rusty believed it. Rusty had lived four years in hell and he thought it was his fault.

Rusty started pacing again, walking between the bed and the door as though he just didn't dare stop moving. "Look, I meant it when I said that I know what people see when they look at me. I've always known that. And I chose to go to prison, remember?"

"No!" he said sharply. "That wasn't a choice. Not really. You didn't wake up one morning and think 'Gee, I think I'll go to jail today.'" No. Rusty had woken up one morning and thought '_I don't want Danny to go to jail'. _And there'd never been another consideration. And much as he might wish, that wasn't a choice.

Rusty ignored him and walked faster and for a moment Danny thought that Rusty was planning on throwing himself into the door. "You honestly think I never _considered _that this might happen? I knew it might. Knew it would be bad. Hell, _you _knew this could happen, remember?"

Danny felt that like a knife in the heart. "I...Rus'..."

"I put myself in the situation, Danny," Rusty told him fiercely. "Be pretty fucking disingenuous of me to act surprised afterwards."

He was desperate to be heard. Wanted to scream the truth at Rusty. Wanted to make him understand. "That doesn't change what they did. That doesn't make it not - "

" - first time. In the showers. They weren't even looking for me, Danny. They were after someone else. I _chose _to get involved. And I didn't run fast enough. Didn't hit hard enough. There were four of them, Danny. But you know what? They left me alone after that. Because I hurt them. If I could do that once, I should've been able to do it again. I could have stopped them, Danny. I could have stopped all of them if I'd just tried a bit harder."

He stopped for a moment in front of the door, fists clenched, and Danny tensed, ready to interfere, but a second later Rusty turned round again and carried on talking blindly.

"And that first time, in the shower, that's how I came to...that's when the first guy noticed me. If I'd just stayed quiet and minded my own business then maybe I could have got through it all okay. And with him, I mean, yeah he was bigger than me and stronger, but I should have been able to do something, Danny, I should have been able to do more. And after....he did some things to me. Bad things."

Rusty's face was creased with remembered agony , his fingers pulling roughly through his hair, hurting and punishing, and the tears were hot on Danny's face and he could say _nothing. _

"It hurt, Danny. It hurt so fucking much. And he told me I had to be quiet or he'd do it again, and I _was. _I stopped screaming. Never yelled for help. And I could have. My choice, you see. My fault."

"That's not your fault. That's not a choice," Danny managed to insist and it made no difference and Rusty resumed his violent pacing, back and forth in front of the door, his fists clenched tight.

"And then when I belonged to Him I hardly ever managed to run away. And most of the time there were other guys there, and most of the time I was tied up...but I could have done _something, _Danny. I should have been able to do something."

Rusty's voice was dead and hopeless. And there was a aching void in Danny's soul and it was _howling_. Screaming for everything lost. He didn't know that Rusty could believe him. He didn't know that Rusty would ever believe him. Four years, Rusty was alone. _Danny _should have been able to do something. Carson had asked him if he thought he could have made a difference. He knew he could have stopped this.

"There was nothing you could have done," he said and his voice was too loud and it echoed too much.

"But there _was," _Rusty told him, and he was looking right at Danny now, frightened desperation in his eyes. "Really, there was. Every time the first guy fucked me I wound up in the infirmary. And every time the doctor asked me who it was, and I gave him some bullshit line about falling down the stairs. Like it was funny. All I had to do was tell him, don't you see? All I had to do was ask for help. I never did. Not with the first guy and not with Him or any of his compadres. I could have snitched on them but I was too scared of the consequences. Fuck, I could have asked to be taken into protective custody. You know what that means? Solitary cell, twenty three hours a day. Never seeing another person." He stopped talking and he was shaking, physically shaking, and his eyes were fixed on the floor.

"You couldn't have survived that," Danny said immediately. And there was part of him that would always be amazed that Rusty had survived _this. _

"I know," Rusty said and he almost sounded amused and he wouldn't look at Danny for a second. "I knew that then. So you see, Danny? This...all of this? This is my fault. This is what I chose. It wasn't rape."

Danny took a deep breath and managed, somehow, to douse the supernova of fury and pain and rage.

He couldn't change what had happened.

Everything that made him want to scream, everything that left him in the storm and the hatred – it was in the past. Fixed. He couldn't change it.

Anger couldn't save them.

All he had was hope.

He took a step forwards, towards Rusty and Rusty shrank back against the door, shaking his head. Danny stopped dead. "Rusty? Rus', look at me."

He waited until Rusty raised his head and met his eyes and he didn't hide the love or the fear or the pain.

"It wasn't your fault, Rusty. It wasn't what you chose. And it was rape. You were raped." He kept his voice calm and level and quiet. His hands were spread wide, where Rusty could see them. Not a threat. He wasn't a threat. He needed Rusty to _see_.

"No," Rusty said, shaking his head violently, unfamiliar, uncontrollable agitation coursing through him, destroying him. "No. It was me. I could have done something." His hands were twisted against the door, like he was looking for something solid, something real.

Danny took another step forwards, cautious, like he thought Rusty might spook and run at any moment. (_Rusty might run at any moment.) "_You went to prison for me, remember, Rusty? It could have been me. Suppose I was standing in front of you right now, telling you that I'd been - "

" - _No_!" Rusty shouted, and his eyes were wide and horrified, and even as Danny watched he was tearing at his arms with his fingernails. "No, no, no," he said again, pleadingly and he just couldn't cope with the picture Danny had put in his head.

"Okay," Danny said quickly, holding out a hand placatingly, staying well back. "It's okay, Rus'. Stop doing that. _Please." _

After a second Rusty nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets but he was still standing at the door, still tense and wild and frightened.

"Right," Danny said, taking a deep breath. "Someone else then. Imagine....imagine if it was Linus." He hated the thought, hated what he was doing. But he needed to make Rusty see how wrong he was.

"It's different," Rusty said at once, but he was looking at Danny, listening to Danny, and, encouraged, Danny took another step forwards. Small steps. Tiny steps. No sudden movements, nothing threatening.

"It isn't," he argued. "If Linus went to prison - for me – and if he was...if he was _fucked..." _He used Rusty's word and he took a deep breath and told himself firmly that he absolutely was not going to throw up. "If he was fucked because he tried to help someone. Would you tell him it was his fault? Would you tell him he could have done something to stop it, if he really wanted to?"

Rusty shook his head in urgent denial. "No. Of course not. But it's different. _I'm _different." There was desperation in his voice and he was trying to convince himself and begging Danny to prove him wrong.

He _wanted _to be wrong. Danny knew that.

"It's not. You're not," He kept his eyes fixed on Rusty's and focused on nothing but absolute sincerity and total truth and he walked forwards slowly. "Rus', you're my best friend. I love you and I think – I _know_ – you're the most amazing, brilliant...." He shook his head. "I _love _you. But you can't always win. _We _can't always - "

" - but I _should _have." Rusty's voice was cracking. "I'm not helpless. There must have been something...I _let _them. I'm sorry, Danny, I didn't want it, I'm sorry."

He was apologising and Danny's next few steps were quick and he stopped right in front of Rusty, inches apart and still he didn't reach out. Some things he wouldn't force. Some things he would never force. "Look at me," he said again and his voice was strong and fierce. "You couldn't have run any faster. You couldn't have hit any harder. You couldn't have stopped them. There was nothing you could have done."

"You don't know that," Rusty whispered, his eyes fixed on Danny's, like he was looking for all the answers.

Danny's smile was gentle and compassionate and absolutely confident. "I know that."

"You _can't," _Rusty argued, and his voice was wavering, trembling, breaking.

"I know _you, _Rus'. I know you. There was nothing you could have done." Cautiously – very, very cautiously – he reached out and laid his hand on Rusty's cheek. "There was nothing you could have done," he said again.

"I...I...._Danny," _Rusty took a faltering step forwards and his hands clenched tightly into Danny's shirt and Danny wrapped his arms around him tightly.

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly, and he could feel Rusty crying silently against his chest, deep, shuddering sobs. "There was nothing you could do, Rus'. It's not your fault."

Rusty spoke rapidly, his words frantic and staccato and falling over each other. "I couldn't stop them...it _hurt, _Danny, and I didn't want it...and I made all these lines that I wasn't supposed to cross, and He kept moving them, and I couldn't stop them and I let them touch me whenever they wanted cos I didn't want to go back to solitary, and He told me I wanted it, He told me everyone knew I wanted it and I _don't, _Danny, I don't." His voice cracked on the last word, four years, a lifetime's pain and anguish.

"I know," Danny murmured into his hair. "Oh, Rus', I know. It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault."

He held Rusty close and felt him shaking, felt him crying and he listened to the incoherent agony and he whispered endless promises of love and reassurance.

"Say it out loud," he asked eventually, very, very softly, and he hated what he was asking but Rusty needed this. They needed this. "Say it to me. Please."

He felt Rusty tense in his arms and he waited, hopeful and reassuring.

* * *

"Say it out loud," Danny said and for the smallest of seconds, Rusty considered pretending that he didn't know what Danny wanted to hear.

Danny didn't blame him. He'd told Danny everything he thought he knew, all the ways that he could have changed things, all the choices he could have made. And it hadn't made a difference.

Right from the moment he'd first felt Kowalski on top of him, Rusty had known – had thought he'd known – that he should have been able to do something. That things should have been different. He should have been able to save himself. And he'd believed that absolutely, absorbed it into himself. Even when he'd been hallucinating, even imaginary Danny had never told him he wasn't to blame.

But Danny was real now, was here now, and Danny had held him close and told him it wasn't his fault, and there was a part of Rusty had been longing for that for four years now. Dreaming of it. Not daring to hope for it.

It felt like heaven and hell and absolution, all rolled into one.

His face was pressed against Danny's chest. He could feel Danny's heart beating. He closed his eyes.

"I was raped," he admitted, and it was an inaudible whisper but he knew Danny had heard it anyway when he felt the gentle, forgiving, _loving _kiss brush his forehead. "It wasn't my fault," he said and his voice was a little stronger, and it was...it felt like.... "It wasn't my _fault," _he said again in astounded revelation and when he started crying again it felt like relief and release and catharsis, four years of forgiveness, safe in Danny's arms.


	8. One month after Part 1

**A/N: InSilva told me I wasn't allowed to make her laugh today. This resulted.**

**A/N2: Have come to the conclusion that nature abhors a post-it note. Therefore this chapter is a two-parter. Next part soonish.**

**A/N3: For those who may have this story on alert and not noticed - I posted a prequel/side story to 'Falling like dominoes' called 'I guess we're done' that you might be interested in reading.  
**

**A/N4: This chapter is set a few hours after the last chapter. And is still a month after the Benedict job where the last chapter was three weeks after the Benedict job. The last chapter actually lasted about a week. Yes, I felt the need to explain that.**

**Warning: Unpleasantness, adult themes, that sort of thing.  
**

* * *

**One month after....**

* * *

It had been a few hours and Rusty had cried on and off till he fell asleep. Danny hadn't let him go once in that time. And he hadn't slept. Matter of fact, he didn't think he'd ever sleep again.

He looked down at Rusty, asleep and exhausted and clinging to him, face still blotchy and tear-stained and his arm tightened automatically round Rusty's chest. With a sigh Rusty snuggled closer to him and Danny fought back the lump in his throat.

Even when he was asleep – even when he was asleep in Danny's arms – Rusty didn't look as relaxed as Danny remembered. Not as safe as Danny liked.

He felt his mouth twist; so many reasons why. Four years of why. And four years of fear and pain and hurt and loss that had never been expressed before. Not as long as Rusty had been trapped in the idea that it was his fault. And Danny couldn't even begin to understand how Rusty could think that.

Except...except he could, really. Just that he didn't want to. Didn't want to come close, even in his head, to anything that could be construed as agreement with the most twisted and abhorrent and _wrong...._he tightened his lips. It _wasn't _Rusty's fault. Nowhere close. But he could see why _Rusty _would think that.

Rusty had always been independent. Always been firmly in charge of his own destiny. And there had been so many times that Danny had needed to explain, to convince and persuade, that no matter how hard he worked and how much he thought, Rusty couldn't hope to cover all the angles. There were always going to be things out of his control. And when things went wrong, it didn't mean that he hadn't tried hard enough.

Rusty had lived four years without anyone telling him it wasn't his fault.

Danny should've known that. Danny should've been able to see the way Rusty was twisted up inside a long time ago. Right at the start of the Benedict job. He should've said something. He should've fixed everything. Instead he'd been caught up in his own pain, his own anger. "_And this is Linus Caldwell. My new partner." _Linus had called it right; he'd been trying to hurt. At a time when Rusty was hurt beyond human endurance, he'd been trying to make it worse. And all the time he'd wasted, trying to deny the obvious, all the times he'd rejected Rusty. Even if he'd been convinced that he didn't want Rusty in his life anymore, (and wasn't that horrifying and masochistic?) he should've known the way Rusty was hurting. Should've said something. Should've fixed everything.

Not that it was all _Danny's _fault either, and the ice-cold anger was just as alive right now as it had been when he'd seen the photographs.

Every little detail that Rusty told him. Every new piece of the picture. Every fresh revelation of hell. Danny could see and imagine and it burned, deep inside.

"_..I didn't run fast enough. Didn't hit hard enough. There were four of them, Danny..."_

"_...he was bigger than me and stronger..."_

"_...most of the time there were other guys there, and most of the time I was tied up..."_

"_...he did some things to me. Bad things..." _

He'd spent half the night imagining what the "bad things" were. Coming up with countless obscene possibilities. He thought of the scars that lined Rusty's body. The scars that he'd seen when he'd had no right to look. Bad things. Awful things. And the suggestion that after that Rusty had stopped screaming....he thought again of the bar and Rusty's quiet and confident assertion that he could have kept quiet while Carson broke his fingers, and he thought of all the silent nightmares and he wanted to scream for the torture and the conditioning imposed on Rusty's mind.

And then the other. The Him. The man who didn't hurt Rusty very much or very often. The man who tied Rusty up, who left him helpless, and he thought about Rusty's reaction to handcuffs, the absolute hell he'd seen in Rusty's eyes when Tony had cuffed him, and he thought about the man who got others involved and got them to touch whenever they wanted, and he thought about the man who'd told Rusty that he wanted it, that everyone knew he wanted it.

He took a deep breath. He wanted...he _needed _them dead. On some primal level, he needed them dead. Couldn't bear to think that Rusty had to live in a world where his rapists were walking around, right as rain.

And there was a part of him that would always want to run out into the night, to find and punish and kill.

He couldn't. He brushed his hand through Rusty's hair and he knew he couldn't. So much more at stake than righteous vengeance.

Except....except he didn't necessarily have to do it himself.

He glanced down quickly at Rusty, checking that he was still asleep, not wanting to risk sharing this train of thought on any level.

He didn't have to do it himself. He knew people and even if he didn't he knew people who knew people. Money was no object. The list of names was in his jacket pocket. Things could be arranged.

And maybe he didn't want (_dare_) to leave Rusty for even as long as it would take for things to be arranged. And maybe there were things that could be done about that too.

The plan was there in his head, whole before he'd even really thought about it. If he walked through to the bathroom right now, he could make the phone call without waking Rusty. And okay, it was the middle of the night, but Saul wouldn't mind. And certainly Saul wouldn't take much convincing; Saul had seen the same pictures as Danny. Only difficulty would be persuading Saul not to go after the bastards himself. All he had to do was tell Saul he had the names. Explain that he couldn't leave Rusty. Maybe suggest a few contacts as a starting point. He could trust Saul to take care of the rest and make sure it was never traced back to either of them. A mass assassination and Rusty would never need to know anything about it.

Rusty shifted suddenly in his arms, pulling away from him, his breathing fast and frightened. His eyes were still closed, and Danny moved quickly, soothing over the nightmare before it grew.

This time, Rusty settled and didn't wake up, and he stayed pressed close to Danny.

Danny sighed and kissed his hair and abandoned his fantasy. Oh, he wanted them dead. He would always want them dead. He wanted them to suffer and he wanted them to die and he knew he'd have no problem killing them. He could imagine killing them. Only thing was he could also imagine the look on Rusty's face if he knew Danny had ordered them executed. Even more if he knew that Danny had got Saul involved. The two people Rusty loved most in the world, conspiring behind his back. And it didn't matter that it was for his sake, it would still hurt, and the simple truth was, Danny couldn't risk breaking Rusty's trust like that.

Finally, he lay down without letting go of Rusty, snuggling as close as he could. "I don't want to lose you," he whispered.

Rusty's eyes fluttered open and he smiled briefly. "You won't," he promised.

* * *

He woke to daylight and the slow realisation of a familiar, always-dismissed, never-to-be-thought-of pain and discomfort.

Careful not to wake Danny, he crept out of bed and tiptoed through to the bathroom.

* * *

When Danny woke his second thought was _When did I fall asleep? _His first, and far more pressing thought, was _Where's Rusty? _

There had been a time in his life when waking up alone was a source of mild regret and loneliness. Later, it had been a reminder of everything – everyone – he'd lost. (_Rusty. Tess.) _Now it meant panic, pure and simple.

He sat up sharply, looking round the room quickly and breathed a momentary sigh of relief. Rusty was sitting on the window sill, gazing out at the city, a glass of whisky clasped loosely in his hand.

"Rusty," he called softly and Rusty didn't look round. "Rus'!" His tone was firmer and he stood up, crossing the floor, and still, still hanging back. Reluctant to reach out, reluctant even to get too close until he was absolutely certain that Rusty was with him. "Rusty!" he said again, and eventually Rusty looked round at him and smiled brightly.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. I was beginning to think you were planning on staying in bed for the rest of your life."

"Uh huh," Danny studied Rusty's face surreptitiously, but there was no hint of confusion, no sign of nightmare or memory. "How long you been up?"

Rusty shrugged. "A while. Couldn't sleep. Jet lag, I guess."

Danny nodded and glanced uneasily at the glass. "Isn't it a little early for the hard stuff?"

Rusty shrugged again. "S'ppose so. What time is it?"

"Early," Danny told him, and glanced back at the clock. "Seven."

"Oh." Rusty swirled the glass around and Danny was relieved to see that the bottle had only gone down a very little since the previous night. "Felt late."

Without even knowing why, he sat down next to Rusty on the windowsill and reached out to take his hand.

Smoothly, almost unnoticeably, Rusty twisted out of his reach and stood up. "You should get dressed. We need to go shopping today. Gonna need clothes and shit if we're planning on staying here for a while."

Alarmed, Danny stood up too. "Rus? What's...." He couldn't quite bring himself to ask _What's wrong. _Last night had provided plenty of wrong and he had no reason in the world to expect that Rusty would be fine this morning. Which made this particular act hard to take. But just because he knew it was an act didn't mean he had the slightest idea what lay beneath it.

"It's okay, Danny," Rusty said immediately. "Just last night....it's a lot to take in, you know?"

He nodded slowly and that shouldn't have been a lie.

"Go get ready, huh?" Rusty suggested. "I want breakfast. As I remember, the pancakes here are out of this world."

There was nothing in Rusty's face or voice to suggest he was anything less than sincere, and Danny nodded again, and when he stepped towards the bathroom, Rusty stepped out of his way just a little faster and just a little further than he had to. And it wasn't instinctive. Wasn't even fear driven. It was a conscious decision and it hurt so much.

The bathroom was thick with condensation. Like the water had run scalding hot for a very long time indeed.

* * *

Rusty sighed when Danny was out of sight and absently brought the glass up to his forehead, relishing the lingering cool. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. Just that he didn't have a better plan. Just that he didn't have _any _plan.

He really did want to cling to Danny, that was the thing. Wanted Danny to make everything better. Danny's words were still fresh in his mind. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't weak and he wasn't to blame and Danny accepted him and there was nothing to forgive. And he understood that _this _wouldn't change any of that. On every rational level, he understood that this was no more his fault than...than the...than the _rape._

He took a deep breath. This wasn't his fault. This wouldn't change the way Danny felt about him. Eventually, even sooner than eventually, he was going to have to tell Danny anyway. And when he did, Danny wouldn't go anywhere. He knew all that. And still, he felt small and dirty and terrified.

He shifted uncomfortably. It hurt. It burned. And he was ashamed.

* * *

The rest of the day was a peculiar sort of purgatory. Rusty remained determinedly bright and cheerful and Danny wanted to scream at him. He couldn't, though. Even if he could have he couldn't, because Rusty kept them in the most crowded public places he could find. And it wasn't like Rusty was so secure that Danny didn't know how that was hurting him. But Rusty pretended that Danny didn't know and didn't give him a chance to disagree. Not without risking causing a scene that would have hurt Rusty even more.

Shopping lasted for hours as Rusty apparently wanted to look at every option in New York before deciding even on what socks he wanted.

Gritting his teeth, Danny endured, through crowded shops and coffee houses where Rusty sipped at black, unsweetened coffee and made desperate small talk. And in the evening, the packed restaurant, and he watched Rusty moving ravioli round his plate like he had no clue it was supposed to go near his mouth.

All day Rusty had been keeping a distance between them. Danny was acutely aware of every shred of physical contact between them now. Today there had been nothing. Today Rusty wanted him at arms length. Even to the extent of actually brushing up against another man on the escalator rather than accidentally walk into Danny. And even more than that, Rusty wouldn't look him in the eyes. Would barely look at him at all.

Danny had done something wrong.

He was sure of it. Convinced of it. Last night he must have pushed too hard or not hard enough. He must have said or done something. Something insensitive, something thoughtless. Something that made Rusty reluctant (_afraid?_) to be alone with him.

And he had to fix it and he'd do whatever it took. He'd give _anything _to make everything right. (_He'd give anything...._) But he couldn't make it better without knowing what he'd done, and no matter how many times he forced himself to relive the agony of last night, he couldn't be sure.

And he wanted to ask and apologise and promise that _whatever _he'd done, he'd never even think of doing it again, if only Rusty would forgive him, would come back to him.

"Hey." Rusty was looking at him – past him - with concern. "You're not eating."

He glanced from his barely-touched plate to Rusty's. "No," he agreed. He bit his lip and looked across the table. "Can we...can we go back to the hotel, now? Please?" He wanted to talk. They needed to talk.

For a moment Rusty looked uncertain. Then he smiled with plastic brightness. "Okay. But let's go get a few drinks first, huh? The night's young."

Danny nodded and acquiesced. He'd do what Rusty wanted.

* * *

Two hours later and they were in the hotel bar. He knew that Danny didn't want to be here, but he was a coward. Didn't want to have the conversation just yet. Couldn't bear it.

And so he uncomfortably sat with Danny at the bar and drank his whisky as slowly as possible and, with looks and smiles, encouraged a very nice woman named Samantha to flirt with Danny all she wanted.

He pretended he didn't see the incredulous looks that Danny shot him. Just as he'd been pretending all day that everything was fine and that Danny _believed _that everything was fine and that he was completely unaware that Danny wanted to talk to him. It hurt and he was scared and he couldn't lean on Danny till he'd told Danny and he couldn't tell Danny.

"Samantha was saying she was in Italy last year, Danny," he said brightly. "Florence. Weren't you saying you were there too? When abouts?"

Danny stared at him, hurt in his eyes. "May," he said shortly.

"May," Rusty nodded. "And Samantha was there in June. Guess you must have just missed each other."

"It's a beautiful city," Samantha said enthusiastically. "Did you see the Galleria dell'Accademia while you were there? I just love Michaelangelo."

"Oh, so does Danny," Rusty assured her. "And there's a little shop just next to the museum that sells the best gelato in Italy."

"Were you there with Danny?" she asked innocently.

He was aware of Danny's misery and he was so sorry. "Not that time," he said easily.

"Listen," Danny interrupted, just a little too loud and just a little too harsh. "I'm tired. Going to head upstairs. You coming, Rusty?"

For a wild, painful moment, he considered saying no. "Yeah, okay," he agreed instead. "It was nice meeting you, Samantha."

"Yes," Danny agreed with an effort. "Goodbye."

"Would you....would you like my number?" she asked Danny, shy and hopeful.

Danny didn't look at Rusty. "I'm really not looking for anything at the moment," he said, as gentle as he could. "Sorry."

They walked towards the elevators in silence. He knew Danny was angry with him. Frustrated. And, truth be known, he was angry with himself. Not like he didn't know he was being unreasonable.

He didn't want Danny to lose him.

* * *

Danny barely waited until the door was closed and they were alone. "What's going on, Rusty?" he demanded, maybe a little fiercer than he meant to.

Rusty blinked at him, eyes wide and shocked and then he deliberately walked further into the room, not looking at Danny any more. "You know, I think, maybe I should get a room of my own," he said lightly. "I mean, Samantha tonight...I must be putting a serious dent in your social life."

He wasn't looking for any kind of social life. Probably wouldn't be, even if everything was normal. There'd been no one since Tess. "Not interested," he said tightly. Nothing was more important than Rusty. And Rusty should know that.

"I _do _know that," Rusty admitted quietly, still not looking at him. "I...Danny..." He shrugged. "I do know that." He sighed. "It's...can't you let it go, Danny? Just this once?"

"No!" he said immediately, sooner and harsher and _more _than he ever would have before.

He knew Rusty was frowning. Even without looking, he knew Rusty was frowning. And he had to explain.

"Last time I ignored you - let you keep things from me - you were planning on killing yourself," he said tightly. "Time before that, you went to prison for four years. I...I can't do that again, Rus'. I'm sorry."

Rusty was staring at the floor now, and Danny didn't even know what he was thinking, but he wanted - _needed - _to know.

He stepped closer and Rusty stepped away sharply.

Danny stared at him in undisguised misery. "It's me, isn't it? I did something....said something. Rusty, whatever it is, I promise I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I....I never meant to hurt you and I'm so _sorry." _The apology was frantic and heartfelt and he didn't think it could ever be enough.

"No!" Rusty was looking at him now. Staring at him in horror. "Oh, God, no, Danny, it isn't you. You've done _nothing, _I promise." He sighed and rubbed at his mouth. "I didn't want you to make you think...it's nothing like that." He took a deep breath. Turned his head away. Stared blindly out of the window. "I think I need to see a doctor."

A feeling of terror swept over him. Rusty _never _wanted to go to the doctor if he could help it. And when he'd woken up this morning, Rusty hadn't been there. Rusty would have had time... "Did you - " he began, horrified.

" - not that," Rusty interrupted, and he almost felt relieved. "I didn't hurt myself, I promise." He laid his hand on the glass and clenched his fist. "I just...need to see a doctor."

He frowned, still not getting it. "Why? You feeling sick?"

Rusty laughed suddenly, and he didn't sound like himself, and Danny could hear the self-disgust in the sound. "Yeah. Something like that. What happens when you don't practice safe sex for four years."

Oh, God. His mouth was dry. He hadn't thought...he hadn't imagined. Why hadn't he thought? "He....they gave you something?"

"Something," Rusty snorted. "Yeah."

He sounded so angry and frightened, and helplessly Danny stepped forwards, reaching out, needing the contact, needing the comfort and the comforting.

"_Don't touch me," _Rusty hissed sharply, and he stumbled away from Danny quickly.

Immediately Danny stepped back, his hands spread wide, waiting and Rusty leaned back against the wall and looked at him.

"Feel disgusting," he said, so softly that Danny almost missed it.

"Rus', this isn't your fault," Danny said firmly. "And you're not."

Rusty laughed again, high and bitter. "Believe me, I am. Got sores and blisters and..." his face creased with revulsion and he swallowed with an effort. "I need to see a doctor."

"Yeah," Danny agreed softly, aching to take Rusty in his arms, desperate for answers, solutions he didn't have. "We'll see someone."

There was a long pause and Rusty was staring at the floor. "Danny?" he said at last. "I've got this, whatever it is. I guess...I mean, I don't know what else I've got."

He licked his lips and his mouth was dry again. "Don't think about that now," he said, uselessly. Not like _he_ was capable of thinking of much else.

"It's..." Rusty closed his eyes and swayed slightly. "We should be prepared for the worst, Danny. I could be dying right now."

* * *

He couldn't bear to look Danny in the face. Couldn't bear to see Danny's eyes. Couldn't bear any of this.

He felt, rather than saw, Danny step closer to him. Felt the hand that reached out, not quite touching, and he wanted to lean in and he didn't quite dare.

"Don't say that," Danny whispered. "You don't know that. We'll see a doctor. Tomorrow, we'll see a doctor and we'll find out for sure and _then _we'll figure out what happens next."

Angry, he opened his eyes and glared at Danny. "Oh, come on, Danny. We already know what's likely. You know, apparently nearly two percent of guys in prison are HIV positive. And maybe that doesn't sound a lot, but it's nearly one in fifty. Wanna know my number?"

He'd give anything to take that look from Danny's eyes.

He turned his head away sharply. "_Fuck." _He swallowed hard. "Look. If you've got some place under surveillance and you see a bunch of guys taking in crates of guns, you've got to assume that if you go in, there's going to be a pretty good chance you're not walking out again."

"But you don't _know _the crates have guns in," Danny objected, soft and intense and desperate, and Danny would always cling to any hope there was. "For all you know - "

" - oh, trust me," he said, smiling darkly. "They weren't full of puppies and kittens."

"But they might be - " Danny began, and he _had _to interrupt.

" - can we drop the metaphor?" he asked. "Please."

There was a long pause. He stared at his shoes while Danny stared at him. "We don't know anything for certain, Rus'," Danny said at last.

For a second, Rusty almost hated him. "I know it hurts. I know it burns when...I know if anyone knew they'd be laughing at me. I know I want to scour my fucking _skin _off." His voice rose sharply and the room was too hot and he was clawing at his wrist with his fingernails when Danny grabbed his hand.

"Hey!" Danny said sharply and, seized with terror and panic, Rusty pushed his hand away as hard as he could.

"_Don't touch me," _he shouted, and it was alarm and terror, and he couldn't, mustn't, let Danny near him. He threw himself backwards and the wall hit his back hard, and he slid down it, hunched on the floor and gazing up at Danny. "Don't touch me," he said again. Whispered. Pleaded.

The horror and confusion and fear in Danny's eyes faded away slowly and was replaced with grief and understanding and compassion. "Oh, Rus'," he murmured softly. "You can't catch it like that. I'm safe."

He knew that. Except.... "All it takes is a drop of blood in an open wound," he said quietly. He couldn't take that chance. Not with Danny.

"Neither of us is bleeding," Danny said firmly, and a look of uncertainty crossed his face. "Neither of us is bleeding," he said again. "Right?"

Rusty was barely listening. Because he wasn't bleeding. Now. But he had been. He had been and Danny had bandaged him up. "My thigh," he said with soft, dawning horror. "Oh, fuck, Danny I let you touch me. And Saul!" he realised. Saul had dressed his hand and wrist and he'd never even _thought._ "Stupid. So fucking _stupid." _He could have...he could have...."I could have killed you. Both of you."

"No," Danny protested.

"So fucking _stupid_," he said again, and it was an agony he couldn't bear. He wanted to hit the wall, wanted to bang his head against it, wanted to end all of this, but Danny was sitting there, sitting in front of him in his own expanse of agony and Rusty mustn't hurt him anymore.

He buried his face in his hands for a long moment. '"m sorry, Danny," he said at last, muffled.

After a second, he felt Danny's hand on his shoulder, hesitant, promising that it could be removed any time he wanted, the second he wasn't comfortable. "Don't be sorry," Danny told him, the fierce certainty in his voice a contrast anxious touch.

He laughed a little. "Don't you tell me it's going to be alright," he warned.

"I wasn't going to," Danny said quietly, and Rusty smiled to himself. Danny wasn't going to lie to him. And that made everything better, somehow.

There was something he had to tell Danny. Six words he'd never told Danny before. Six words that maybe Danny needed to hear.

"I don't want to die anymore," he whispered thickly. "Danny, I don't want to die."

In an instant Danny's arms were around him, and he allowed it, more than allowed it, he leaned in as close as he could, gripping Danny's arms, his head against Danny's chest, Danny's face pressed into his hair, and he could feel Danny crying.

* * *

"_I don't want to die anymore," _Rusty told him, his voice heavy with tears and misery. "_Danny, I don't want to die," _and Danny wanted to promise him that it was okay, that he wasn't going to die, that he was _never _going to die.

He wrapped his arms around Rusty as tightly as he could, buried his face in Rusty's hair, feeling the tears streaming down his cheeks, and he could feel Rusty trembling against his chest. They could be running out of time. They could be running out of time and they'd only just found each other again. He held Rusty tighter and he never wanted to let go.

(_It wasn't fair._)

* * *

**I would be particularly interested to know what you thought of this chapter, if you could spare a moment. Thank you.**


	9. One month after Part 2

**Sigh. So, this chapter is three times as long as the previous one. Sorry about that. No real point in splitting it but I did that already. Anyway, long and with a certain amount of dark. You have been warned on both counts.**

**InSilva is wonderful and I _do _appreciate her. And I say this in particular because she has read through this chapter - in installments - and has carefully, consistently and tactfully told me exactly what I was missing and what I was doing wrong and now the chapter is so much better than it ever could have been without her. Also, she has sensible ideas on mixing together coconut and orange flavoured hot chocolates to make drink of niceness. In short; InSilva is wonderful. Even if she tells me I can't trust stationery. **

**Oh, and as far as medical detail goes....it's all researched but I'm not a doctor.**

* * *

Funny. Before today Danny would have sworn there was nothing he wanted more than to hear Rusty tell him he didn't want to die. Fear lingered and he figured maybe it always would. Sometimes the impossible became commonplace and now he'd always be afraid of losing Rusty to Rusty.

But this...He hadn't thought of this. Hadn't known to be afraid of this. And Rusty was still so thin in his arms, and he had assumed that was all about trauma and depression and prison food and now he wondered. Wondered if he should've been seeing symptoms all along. Wondered if he should've been doing something all along.

Presently, Rusty sat up and leaned against the wall, his hands still clutching Danny's. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Danny shook his head; this whole nightmare was beyond apology.

"I'm sorry for today," Rusty clarified. "I didn't want to tell you."

"Doesn't matter now," Danny said. It didn't. He sighed and leaned in closer. "What do you want to do?"

Rusty shrugged. "I...I..." He looked away. "I need a shower, Danny."

Danny could hear the edge of desperation in Rusty's voice, and he could _feel _how Rusty felt. Dirt and filth clinging to him, the frantic desire to be clean. And all that had been there before there was symptoms and physical evidence and Danny hated the thought that Rusty might never get past it.

He nodded and Rusty stood up quickly, heading for the bathroom.

"Rus'," he said, loudly and sharply, suddenly afraid.

Rusty understood. "I'll leave the door open," he promised and Danny nodded thankfully. Because he'd been happy letting Rusty alone before, but maybe there'd just been too much in the last few days.

After he'd heard the water running for a few moments, he managed to get up off the floor, go to the table and pour a couple of glasses of whiskey. He had a feeling they were going to need them.

Then he sat down and stared at the glass in his hand and resolutely thought of nothing.

(_….dying. Rusty might be dying. Rusty might be dying. Rusty might be dying. Rusty might be....)_

Difficult to say how much time passed before Rusty emerged from the bathroom.

Danny looked up at him and he smile froze on his face. Rusty's skin was flushed and overred. "How hot did you have the water?" Danny demanded urgently.

Rusty sat down opposite him and rubbed a hand over his pink forearm. "Don't know," he said eventually. "I just wanted to feel _clean_." He looked up at Danny with a subdued smile. "I don't."

"Rusty..." Danny began, and he didn't know what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Rusty that just because there was no blood didn't make this okay, and that Rusty frightened him, and he wanted Rusty to promise that he'd be careful, that he'd think, (_that he would never, ever leave Danny, not even for a second.) _

"I know, Danny," Rusty said, looking at him, and however much he hated it, the shower had clearly done something, because Rusty looked calmer than he had before. "I know. I wasn't....I wasn't meaning it like that. I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I won't do it again."

He studied Rusty, for a handful of seconds, but the regret and apology and the promise were genuine, and in the end, he accepted them and moved on. "Okay," he said and took a deep breath. "How do you want to do this?"

"I don't," Rusty answered immediately, taking a quick gulp of whiskey.

Danny frowned, alarmed. "You said - "

" - I said I thought I needed to see a doctor," Rusty told him. "I didn't say I _wanted _to. I don't want to. I really don't want to."

There was sheer naked misery on Rusty's face when he looked at Danny,, and it took Danny a couple of seconds to work out why. He'd been caught up in the worst of possibilities. He hadn't stopped to think - " - they're going to need to examine you," he said with quiet dread.

Rusty nodded. "'Take off your pants, bend over and spread your legs'," he recited, shuddering. "I don't know if I _can._"

Danny didn't know either. Rusty couldn't bear to be naked in front of _him._ Someone else...someone else looking and touching and examining....someone else's hands on Rusty's body...He took a deep breath. Tried to be logical. "It's not - "

" - I know it's not the same," Rusty agreed hollowly. "But it's going to _feel _the same." He ran his hand through his hair agitatedly. "You know, He used to play this game - "

" - game - " Danny interrupted involuntarily, his mouth twisting.

Rusty ignored him. " - only a couple of times, really. Twice. First time was just after a guard had been stabbed. No one I knew. But tensions were high, you know? Lots of anger around. Normal rules were being left out of it. He knew the right people to talk to. Chose the toughest guards in the place and got someone to tell them I had a switch blade..." He hesitated and licked his lips. "...Concealed on my person. They grabbed me on the stairs before I knew anything about it. Had me over the railing. I hit my head a coupla times. Then they pulled my clothes off." He paused again, his eyes distant. "They were very thorough. Took their time."

Danny heard the soft choking noise and it took him a moment to realise he was the one making it.

Rusty flashed him a wan smile. "Thing is, fighting guards....it's not exactly encouraged, you know? They don't like it. So I had to keep still, keep my hands on the railing, let them..._let _them. I thought I was going to lose it. Nearly did. There were all these people watching and laughing and it felt....But He was there. On the stairs opposite. Just leaning against the wall, watching the show with a mug of coffee. I wasn't going to lose it in front of Him." He laughed. "Suppose I should be thankful to Him, actually."

"No!" Danny snarled. Not even ironically.

"They were just doing their jobs, Danny. But that's not how it _felt."_

Rusty's voice was painfully matter-of-fact. This story just a thousand miles from being the worst. Rusty was just using it to make a point. And Danny had to argue. "They were...that was to hurt you. Humiliate you. This'll be - "

" - gentle?" Rusty laughed in a way that Danny couldn't understand. "You know, the other time He tried that the guy was gentle. Apologetic. This guard who used to talk to me. Older guy. Sort who'd seen it all. He made a point of small talk, you know? The weather. What was for lunch. His kid's basketball games. And he'd always ask if I was okay. Never looked like he believed me either." Rusty smiled and then frowned, startled. "I suppose I liked him. Yeah...yeah, I think I did."

Danny nodded and he liked the idea that someone had tried to look out for Rusty. Even if, reading between the lines, Rusty had barely understood it at the time. "What happened?"

Rusty shrugged. "_He _happened. He told the guard – the nice one – that I had drugs...he had to do his job. Wasn't in public at least. And he was gentle, like I said. Asked my permission. Let me take my own clothes off. He stared at the scars...Stared at _me. _And he was gentle and I know I didn't make a sound...but I couldn't stop shaking. And every time I saw him after that I could feel his hands on me. Not that it really mattered; he never so much as looked at me again."

"And _He _got what he wanted, didn't he?" Danny said with heavy savagery. He couldn't be sure whether the He had been trying to cut Rusty off from potential help or whether it had been less about the practical and more about the possessive, but either way, it seemed like the He had won.

"He usually did," Rusty told him softly

There was silence and Rusty sighed and poured them another drink. "No-one we know," he said, abruptly and decidedly.

Danny frowned. "You sure?" He wasn't sure if he liked the idea of a stranger – someone he didn't know and couldn't trust – treating Rusty.

"I don't want anyone to know," Rusty said quietly.

That was...understandable. "Okay, we'll find a doctor tomorrow," he agreed. He hesitated and thought of the cop the other day, and it wasn't exactly clear cut after all, but - "Do you...do you think you'd be more comfortable with a woman?"

Rusty shrugged. "Be _less _comfortable with a man." He bit his lip and his eyes were fixed on Danny's. "I don't want _anyone _to know."

He didn't understand. "If they're going to help they're going to need to know - "

Not looking away, not even blinking, Rusty interrupted. " - I don't want anyone to know I was fu...that I was raped," he finished defiantly, and the approval shone in Danny's eyes for the briefest of moments. For the word, for the understanding, not for the facts, and not for the idea.

"They're going to figure it out," he said gently.

"Not necessarily," Rusty insisted. "It's not the most obvious conclusion. Let them think I'm a...let them think I'm careless. I don't care about that."

Danny nodded slowly. "It's up to you, Rusty," he promised. "However you want to do this."

Rusty looked at him anxiously. "You'll come with me right, Danny? You won't leave me?"

His breath caught. "_Rus'!..." _he protested, horrified that Rusty could even think it. _Idiot._

The relief and apology were written on Rusty's face in equal measures.

* * *

The waiting room was bright and cheerful and it was all that Rusty could do to stop himself from running out of there at full tilt. He knew that Danny knew that. For that matter, he knew that Danny knew that he knew. And Danny had very casually sat down between him and the door and took his hand, holding it with tight, desperate, Danny-like reassurance.

Public affection. Not really something they tended to indulge in. And certainly the old man by the door and the two young women in the corner had been shooting them disapproving and disgusted looks, but he didn't care. Danny was here and that was enough to keep him from vanishing into a world of darkness and misery. Though it was probably a good thing that Danny was so focused on him that he hadn't noticed the looks. Because it was just possible that Danny would have a problem with it.

He stared down at the magazine in his other hand, grabbed hastily so he could be looking anywhere other than the stern poster on the far wall that screamed at him that STDs were on the rise and he should really use protection.

_("If I'm going fuck a greedy little slut like you, I want some protection.")_

The article on fly-fishing swam before his eyes. Danny had found him a doctor as soon as possible. And that was good. Sooner was better. Because he _said _they should prepare themselves for the worst, but he was up against Danny's optimism and that was a battle he didn't often win. If they _knew _then they could figure out what came next.

Besides. It hurt now. Oh, really he shouldn't complain. In the scheme of things, it was a small pain. Really more of an annoyance than anything else. But every time he felt it he remembered what it meant and he had visions of standing in the shower beneath scalding water and scrubbing and scrubbing until there was nothing left of him. Only way he'd ever feel _clean._

Danny's other hand closed over his and Rusty realised that he'd torn the magazine to shreds.

He smiled at Danny.

"Steve Burns, room three please," the woman at reception called. The name he'd given. They stood up wordlessly and headed through and the receptionist called after them. "Just a minute?"

They turned enquiringly.

"I'm afraid that Mr Burns has to go on his own."

Panicked, he turned to stare at Danny. He couldn't do this on his own. He _couldn't. _He needed Danny with him....

"It's alright," Danny murmured. "Rus', I promise." He turned his most charming smile on the receptionist. "Listen, Elizabeth. I'm Steve's next of kin and he asked me to go in with him. He's not comfortable with doctors you see. I promise I'm not going to get in the way."

The smile was turned up a few notches and the receptionist melted. "Well as long as Dr Pelham says it's okay....and as long as it's what Mr Burns wants. It is, isn't it?"

He nodded dumbly and then Danny's hand was on his shoulder and he was steered firmly through to the doctor's room.

* * *

Dr Pelham had not been pleased to see him, and though Danny's charming and persuasive argument had got him into the room, he got the distinct impression that he was here on sufferance. She told him to take a seat in the corner and she'd looked between them uneasily, as though she just wasn't sure what to make of them.

But he was here for Rusty and that was the main thing. He was here and Rusty could keep his eyes fixed on him throughout and Danny could only hope that would be enough.

"So, Mr Burns," Dr Pelham began briskly, once the preliminaries had been handled. "What brings you here today?"

Rusty's face was perfectly composed and only Danny could see – only Danny would ever see – how much that was hurting him. "I need treated for an STD. And I want tested for HIV and hepatitis."

She looked a little surprised and she looked over at Danny uncomfortably. "Are you sure you wouldn't continue this discussion in private? Or I'm sure some of my male colleagues could see to you if you'd be more - "

" - No!" Rusty said quickly. Too quickly and her eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

All she said though was "I see. Well, I'll need to know your symptoms."

There was a long pause and Rusty's eyes were glazed over and unreadable. "A raised rash inside and around the anus. Several open sores. Some blistering. Itching. A burning pain."

There was a subtle change in Rusty's voice...and the phrasing...Danny was pretty certain that Rusty was playing a part. A doctor describing someone else's symptoms. Nothing that could touch him, nothing that could hurt him. It hurt Danny, because just in that moment he couldn't see _Rusty. _But anything that made this easier for Rusty to bear.

"A text book description," Dr Pelham noted and there was that same suspicion in her eyes. She scribbled something down in her notes. "And have you engaged in receiving unprotected anal sex?"

"Yes." Rusty's voice was steady and truthful and ashamed and Danny wanted to scream that that was only a _fraction _of the story.

But Rusty didn't want anyone to know. So all he could do was keep his eyes on Rusty's and keep up the silent litany of promises. _Not your fault. Never your fault. I love you. I won't leave you.'_

"Okay. Thank you." She scribbled something else down and probably she was absolutely convinced that she was showing them nothing but professional neutrality. Probably to most people she would indeed have come off as entirely non-judgemental. But Danny made a very good living reading people. He could see what she was thinking. And the worst thing was, he knew Rusty could too. And he knew it hurt.

She looked up at Rusty, smiling with false comfort. "Well, you're going to have to make a list of all your sexual partners - " She froze as Rusty laughed.

Rusty laughed. It was a short, ugly noise, broken and unhuman, finding amusement in the darkest of times, and the maelstrom of loss and agony was raging in Rusty's eyes.

Danny was on his feet immediately, moving to calm to soothe the storm before it broke, but Rusty caught himself almost at once, and fiercely, silently, told Danny to stay where he was.

Dr Pelham was staring fixedly at Danny, her hand hovering near her phone. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't sit down."

He glanced miserably at Rusty, who nodded, and he sat down heavily.

The doctor looked over at Rusty nervously.

"I'm sorry," Rusty said softly to Dr Pelham. "Please continue."

"Yes, well." She seemed rattled. "You'll need to contact all your previous sexual partners and urge them to get tested. Now, I'll draw bloods to test for HIV, Hepatitis A and and Hepatitis B. Unfortunately, you realise the HIV test won't be conclusive. You'll need to be retested in a month and then again in three months in order to be definite."

Oh, God. Danny had thought it would just be a simple blood test. He'd thought they'd have an answer in a couple of days.

"Thank you," Rusty said, rolling up his sleeve. Danny didn't think he could get any paler, his hands were trembling ever so slightly and his voice was soft and dead.

Dr Pelham stopped him. "I think we'd better proceed with the exam first."

"Of course," Rusty said hoarse. Danny concentrated on broadcasting comfort and reassurance.

"If you could just step behind the curtain and remove your clothes, please," she went on, stepping towards the door.

Danny could see the scream building up inside Rusty, and Rusty's fist were clenched, his knuckles burning white.

The doctor paused in the doorway and frowned back at them. "Quickly, please, Mr Burns."

"Where are you going?" Danny asked sharply.

She made a gesture out the door and stepped back inside and a second later a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white lab coat followed. "Dr Ramsay is going to observe the examination. It's standard policy." She seemed more relaxed now and she walked quickly towards Rusty. "Mr Burns, will you please step behind the curtain and remove your clothes!" She grabbed a box of latex gloves off the table as she passed and pulled one on with an audible 'snap'.

Rusty was on his feet, his eyes wild and frightened, staring at the man in the doorway.

* * *

Trapped, and they were looking at him, and they wanted him to take his clothes off, and gloves, just like Moffatt, and the man in the doorway was huge and there was no way Rusty was going to be able to fight him off, if he refused to take his clothes off, the man would hold him down and it would _hurt. _

The walls were closing in on him. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out, and he shoved his way past the man in the doorway and ran.

* * *

He didn't get far. _Away _was as much as he was thinking and there was the fire exit and the stairs, and in the end he was sitting on the roof, leaning against the surrounding wall, letting the rain soak right through to the bone. The panic had faded, leaving only utter exhaustion and a sinking sense of shame.

Danny found him. Danny always found him. (_When Danny looked for him, Danny always found him._)

And Danny stood in front of him, keeping his distance, his eyes frightened and searching.

Rusty smiled up at him. "You're getting wet," he commented, and it was all about reassurance, all about letting Danny know that he knew who they were, that things were alright even if they weren't alright..

With a sigh of relief, Danny dropped down to sit beside him, his shoulder brushing against Rusty's. "So are you."

"Guess that didn't go so well," he said brightly, after a moment.

The laugh was short and resigned. "Don't see how it could've gone worse."

"I'm not going back in there," he said softly. He couldn't go back in there. Judgement and disgust and people looking at him....And fuck, how useless was he that going to the doctors was so difficult? How stupid was it that he couldn't even sit through a medical exam without going out of his mind? And he still knew he couldn't go back in there. Still knew that the exact same thing would happen all over again.

Danny laid a hand on his forearm. "Hey. I wasn't going to suggest it."

He relaxed. No, Danny wouldn't expect that. Danny didn't think he was stupid. "We try somewhere else, it'll be the same story, won't it?" he asked dully. The same questions. The same need for a chaperone. The same touching and looking. The same fear.

"Yeah." Danny didn't try and sugarcoat it.

He nodded. "You know, He always used to wear a condom," he said, admittedly out of nowhere. "Said He knew where I'd been and He'd rather be safe than sorry." He grinned suddenly. "'Course, His commitment to safe sex somehow went out the window when He had His tongue shoved up my - "

He broke off suddenly. He could see Danny's face.

"Not funny, right?" he asked after an infinite, frozen moment.

Danny shook his head jerkily.

"Fuck." He tipped his head back and the rain poured over his face. "Hope His tongue falls off," he muttered, and Danny still looked like he was going to be sick any moment. All the little details that Danny didn't need to know. "It's over, Danny," he said, except in so many ways it wasn't, and they both knew that.

Danny didn't challenge him on it though. Not today. "I think we should go to someone we know, Rus'. Someone who'll understand. Someone we can _trust._"

Rusty nodded and looked down at his hands for a long moment. The scars were starting to fade to the dull red of old injuries. Some things heal. "You know, maybe it's not so bad. There are drugs now. Medications."

"Don't," Danny said quietly.

He traced his thumb over the lines on his palm. "It's not an instant death sentence any more. I could live _years."_

"Stop it," Danny pleaded.

"Healthily, I mean," he added blankly.

"_You're not going to die." _

Danny gripped his hands tightly. "You're not going to die."

"Wishing doesn't make it so," Rusty said gently. "Maybe it's okay. We could have years together, Danny."

"I want more," Danny said immediately.

He smiled. "You always do."

He glanced sideways at Danny. "You do know you're not, right?" He could see the unfamiliar lack of understanding in Danny's face. Oh. Danny didn't know. _Oh. _He bit his lip. "My next of kin," he clarified. "Before I went to prison, I saw Catherine. Took your name off. Wanted to make sure that you didn't have to hear anything."

Danny was staring, horror in his eyes. "I wouldn't have known if...I _didn't _know." His hands were squeezed tightly. "I didn't _know." _

He eased Danny's grip. Held his hands gently. "Stan," he said quietly. "If it has to be someone we know. Call Stan."

"You sure?" Danny asked.

"Yeah," he said, and then "No," with equal decision. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "Let me think about it, huh? Let's just forget about it for a day." He didn't want Stan to see him like this. Didn't want to have to explain what had happened to him. Didn't want to see that look of pity in Stan's eyes.

"Okay," Danny agreed reluctantly. He smiled and Rusty could see in Danny's eyes that he was willing to run away from their problems, just for today, just for him. "That new David Mamet film's playing. You want to check it out?"

"Sure." He stood up slowly. "Maybe we should go home and find a towel first though?"

Danny ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. "Towel and a blowdryer."

He gave Danny an incredulous look and actually found himself laughing. He'd meant what he said. He had Danny. Whatever happened, maybe that meant it wasn't so bad.

* * *

Another day, another doctor's, and the door to the office rose up in front of them with inexplicable menace.

Danny wanted to tell Rusty that it wasn't too late to change their minds, that they could easily go see Stan instead, but then the door was opened before Rusty had even knocked, and the man from before stood there, wearing a shiny white labcoat, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "I'm Dr Hilary Clyde," he told them, and that wasn't fair, because Hilary was a woman's name and they'd asked for a woman doctor. "Oh, I know," the doctor assured them cheerfully. "I meet all my most interesting patients that way." His gaze lingered on Rusty's body, "Would you like to come inside?"

Danny wanted to scream that no, they really, really didn't, but Rusty stepped forwards dreamily and the doctor put an arm around his shoulder and drew him inside. Quickly, frantically, Danny moved to follow, but the doctor somehow put an arm out and blocked him. "So sorry. I'm afraid I can't let you come in. You're not even Robert's next of kin, you know."

"But he wants me there though," Danny protested desperately. "Rus', tell him."

Rusty looked right through him and didn't say a word.

"Goodbye, Danny," the doctor said cheerfully. "Come on, Robert." The door was closed in Danny's face.

Helpless, Danny stood and stared at it for what seemed to be hours and he heard the noises that were coming from behind the door and he could do nothing to stop it.

And then there was a monster standing behind him.

"This is a different game," the monster whispered and Danny could feel warm breath on the back of his neck. "I _like _games."

He stared resolutely at the door and the monster stepped round him, standing beside him, in front of him. The monster cocked his head, listening at the door, a pair of handcuffs in his hands. "He wants it. Everyone knows he wants it."

Danny shook his head again and again and again.

"Oh, don't worry," the monster told him, holding up a little foil packet. "I use a condom." He grinned widely. "For most things, anyway," he added, wiggling his tongue obscenely.

Danny felt like he was going to be sick.

There was a hand stroking his cheek and it felt cold and slimy. "You can join in, if you like," the monster offered. "I don't mind sharing. Most of the time there are other guys there."

Danny was screaming and it echoed round his head.

"I don't hurt him that much," the monster promised. "Not that often."

And then the monster walked straight through the locked door, and Danny tried to follow, but he couldn't, and Rusty was far away from him now, with the monster and Danny was screaming. "No! _No! _Nonononononononono......"

"Danny! Danny, wake up!"

"Rusty!" He sat up with a shout, breathless and terrified, and Rusty was kneeling beside him, his hand still on Danny's shoulder, and Danny stared at him anxiously, looking for truth and looking for damage.

Rusty squeezed his shoulders firmly. "It's okay, Danny. I'm okay. You're okay. It was just a dream."

It had felt...it had felt _real. _

"I know," Rusty soothed, "I know. It's okay."

"He was hurting you," Danny whispered. "I couldn't stop him." He shuddered convulsively and Rusty pulled him in close, hugging him tightly. "Please let me call Stan," Danny said softly, after a long moment of blissful comfort, his head against Rusty's chest. There was a pause and Rusty stared down at him and Danny thought maybe he shouldn't have said anything. "I'm sorry. It's your decision."

"Call Stan," Rusty said quietly, at last.

"Are you sure?" Danny checked.

"Yeah," Rusty said, and he sounded certain. "Stan's a good guy. You trust him. I...I _almost _trust him. And you're right. We need someone."

Danny nodded slowly. "First thing tomorrow?" he offered.

Rusty glanced at the window. "Think it _is first _thing tomorrow," he noted. He licked his lips. "Danny, I can't tell him. I mean, I can say it to you, but I can't...."

Danny understood. "You want me to - "

" - would you?" Rusty said hopefully.

"Of course," Danny said, and Rusty should never have to ask. He would tell Stan so Rusty wouldn't have to.

He lay down and gently pulled Rusty down beside him. They still had a few hours sleep to get. "Rusty?" he asked, when he was on the very edge of consciousness.

"Yeah?" Rusty sounded equally awake.

"Can we...at some point...can we go see Catherine again?" He wanted the reassurance. The legal promise that Rusty was his responsibility just as he was Rusty's.

Rusty reached out and grabbed his hand. "Yes," he said firmly.

* * *

Danny hated waiting. Danny always hated waiting. He sat at the table and stared at the door and resisted the urge to check his watch more than twice a minute.

He'd chosen another hotel. Somewhere else familiar but somewhere that they would never have to visit again. Somehow, he didn't think that either of them would want to after today. He'd got the rooms, he'd phoned Stan, he'd seen Rusty settled next door with the TV and a box of chocolates, he'd put a pot of coffee on, and now it was all about waiting. And he hated waiting.

The knock at the door was a relief. He crossed the floor quickly and pulled it open without even bothering to check. "Stan. Hi. Come in."

Stan was frowning and he hurried inside and waited till Danny had closed the door. "Danny. Not that it's not good to see you, but what's going on?"

He hadn't given any details on the phone. Just said that it wasn't an _emergency _but he needed to see Stan as quickly as possible. Made sure that Stan got on the next plane. "Sit down. You want a coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks." Stan sat down and continued to frown at him. "What's this about?"

Danny took his time pouring the coffee. He'd tried to practice this conversation in his head. Somehow he'd never got very far. It involved far too many things he didn't know how to say. "Cream? Sugar?"

"No, thank you." He could feel Stan's eyes boring into the back of his head. "Danny....?"

Finally he turned round and placed the coffee on the table and sat down.

He looked at Stan for a long, long moment. "You're not here to see me. You're here to see a friend of mine."

"Okay?" Stan waited expectantly.

Danny nodded and took a deep breath. "So, this doctor-patient confidentiality thing. How does it work, exactly? If I tell you something about him, do you need to keep quiet about it or is it just if _he _tells you?"

Stan looked shocked. "I would never betray a confidence, Danny. You know that. And that has _nothing _to do with the fact that I'm a doctor. Tell me what you need to. I swear no one else will hear it from my lips."

Really, that was what he'd expected. That was what he'd already known. But this was so important..."Well, that's good to know, Stan. Because I promise you. What I'm about to tell you? You ever breathe a word of it to anyone else, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Stan blinked. Like the whole situation was suddenly just a little beyond his grasp."Are...are you _threatening _me, Danny?"

"Yes," Danny said simply.

"Right." Stan nodded a couple of times and seemed to pull himself together. "Danny, you can trust me."

He looked Stan in the eyes for a long time. A very long time. Searching and considering. In the end, he smiled. "Okay, then. This is about Rusty."

"Rusty?" Stan began. "I thought - "

" - We got over it," Danny interrupted, not quite able to hear yet another reminder that not so long ago he'd never wanted to hear Rusty's name again. "You know he's just out of prison, don't you?"

"Yes," Stan agreed slowly.

"He was raped inside," Danny said quickly, all in a rush, all in one breath, hoping that if he said it fast enough he wouldn't have to feel it. "More than once."

There was a long silence. Danny stared down at his coffee, eyes burning.

"_God,_" Stan said at last. "Is he...how's he doing?"

Danny had to bite back the instinctive response; that they were fine, that they were always fine, that they could handle every problem on their own. "Better," he said instead. "He's doing better. Mostly." His tongue flicked over his too-dry lips. "Thing is, one of the bastards gave him something. That's why you're here."

"Fuck." Stan exhaled and looked up at Danny in sudden alarm. "He knows you're talking to me, right?"

"Of course," Danny said, stung. "I would _never." _He sighed. "Stan, we need your help. Please."

"You don't even have to ask. Where is he?" Stan asked, standing up.

Danny hesitated. "Stan...."

Stan looked at him shrewdly for a long moment and then sat down again. "Okay, Danny. Tell me what you don't want to tell me."

There was plenty that he didn't want to tell Stan. In some ways, it didn't matter that he had a carte blanche from Rusty to reveal whatever he needed to, it still felt like betrayal. They just didn't share.

"There are...he's having some problems. Psychologically. We're dealing with it...but this is going to be difficult."

Stan's voice was gentle." I need a few more details, Danny."

He stared down at the tablecloth. He couldn't look at Stan. "He doesn't like being touched. Especially by other people. And he can't handle being naked. And he...he panics. He's jumpy. He gets lost in his head, sometimes." He glanced up at Stan and his voice hardened. "I swear to God, Stan, if you go in there with that look of pity on your face, you'll regret it."

"Sorry," Stan said, not quite sounding like he meant it. "Danny, it is possible to be too self-reliant, you know. You know, there are people you could talk to. Both of you. Let me - "

" I'm telling you this because we need you to understand. We're dealing with it. He's getting better. We're doing better." His voice was level and absolute and it was the truth he was selling.

Stan held his hands up. "I'm not your enemy, Danny."

"I know," he said after a second. "Okay. Is there anything you need to ask?"

Hesitating, Stan looked at him. "Do you know when he was - "

" - two months ago," Danny cut in quickly.

"That's when he was released from prison, right?" Stan checked. "I'm sorry, I meant the last time he was - "

" - same thing," Danny interrupted tightly.

He waited until Stan had got the pain on his face under control. "Right. Well, what that does mean is that an HIV test - " he looked at Danny quickly, expectantly and Danny nodded, showing that he knew, they knew, that would be necessary. " - is more likely to be conclusive. If – _if – _he's been infected, the antibodies will have had more time to develop."

Danny took a deep breath and told himself that that was good. Stan was still looking at him, hesitation and apology written all over him. "What?" he asked sharply.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Stan said slowly. "That question that no one ever asks you...it just became my business."

It took him a moment to get it. And when he did, he felt like screaming. Or laughing. Screaming and laughing and never stopping.

"I'm not having sex with Rusty," Danny said evenly. Calmly. It took an effort.

"I had to ask," Stan told him, and Danny supposed that was true.

He paused. Because there was one thing. "He hurt his hand a little while ago. He was bleeding. I helped bandage it. I didn't have any cuts or anything myself, but he was worried..." Danny shrugged. "He was worried. And he's going to ask."

Stan nodded understandingly. "And you want me to be reassuring."

"I want you to tell him the truth," Danny said definitely. He sighed. "I just want the truth to be reassuring."

"I'll do my best," Stan told him. He stood up and looked Danny straight in the eyes. "Danny, I swear to you, I'm going to make this as painless for him as it can be."

Danny believed him. He just was pretty sure it was still going to be hell.

* * *

Rusty had spent the last half hour lying on the bed, staring at the TV which was showing a variety of cars driving very fast, and shuffling chocolates round in their box until it was likely that even _he _would never be able to find the coffee cream.

All the time he wondered if Stan had arrived. Wondered if it was too late to go next door, grab Danny, call the whole thing off. Wondered if Stan would think he was weak. Wondered if Stan would _laugh_.

He froze at the sound of knocking. It was time. Oh, there was a definite temptation here to just ignore it and abscond out the window. Stan, he reminded himself. Stan and Danny. Not some stranger. Not someone who would hurt him or judge him.

The door opened under his hand and he smiled with Danny and at Stan. "Hi," he said, with a much cheer as he could muster. "Come in."

Stan dropped his bag on the table and sat down. "It's good to see you, Rusty - "

" - in different circumstances, right?" Rusty said wryly.

"Somehow, I never seem to see people when they're feeling their best." Stan frowned unhappily. "You've lost weight."

Rusty shrugged. "Yeah."

"He's put a lot back on," Danny cut in defensively, sitting down at the table beside him.

If anything, that made Stan look more miserable. "You lost the weight in prison?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed. "Think I just need to eat more than normal people." And a lot of the time, the past few years, he just hadn't felt like eating. Not knowing there were people watching him. Not knowing that they could decide to do more than watch at any moment.

"And no one _noticed?" _Stan muttered something uncomplimentary about prison doctors. He sighed. "With your permission I'd like to make up a diet plan for you."

Rusty frowned. "Like salads and stuff?"

"Sort of the opposite of salad and stuff," Saul corrected, his lips quirking slightly. "And I'd like to run a few extra blood tests just to be sure there's no underlying cause."

He knew without looking that Danny was anxious and hopeful. "Okay," he agreed because that part was easy. He stared down at his hands. "So how do we do this?"

"This is what I'm thinking," Stan began gently. "There's a few questions I need to ask you. You know the sort of thing. Then I'll draw some blood. Then the exam and we'll see where we are. Is that okay with you, Rusty?"

Sounded as good as he could expect. He nodded.

"The other thing – the _important _thing – is this," Stan went on, fixing him with a steady gaze. "The object here is to make you as comfortable as possible. That means you want to take a break for a while, all you have to do is say. You need me to leave the room for a bit, it happens." He hesitated for a second. "You want _Danny _to leave - "

" - I need Danny here," Rusty cut in, insistent horror. Danny wouldn't leave him on his own. Danny had _promised. _

Danny's hand brushed against his. "I won't leave, Rus'. Not unless you want me to."

Right now he couldn't imagine how that could ever be possible. Right now he felt like his life depended on Danny being right here.

He licked his lips. "I understand." He hesitated. "Can I...can I ask a question?"

"Of course," Stan answered immediately. "Anything you like."

"I hurt my hand a while ago," he began, choosing not to mention his thigh."Danny and Saul both helped me bandage it. I was bleeding and now I - "

" - you're afraid they might be infected," Stan cut in understandingly and Rusty nodded gratefully.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Yeah, Danny mentioned," Stan said. "He also said that he didn't have any open wounds himself. Now we can check with Saul..."

Rusty wasn't listening. He was replaying the scene – all the scenes – in his head, focusing on all the little details that he'd been too wrapped up in himself to notice, looking for anything, even the smallest of papercuts. Nothing.

"Saul wasn't hurt either," he told Stan, and he was aware of Danny's moment of relief.

Stan nodded and Rusty was pretty sure he wasn't quite content to take his word for it. "That's good. Now, this was less than a month ago correct?" He nodded. "So any tests would be inconclusive. I think the best thing to do is to wait until we have your test results back. Then if – _if –_ you're positive, we'll think about what to do next." He smiled reassuringly at Rusty. "You have to know that statistically the chances of Danny or Saul being infected are incredibly low."

He knew that. But _incredibly-low-chance_ wasn't the same as _impossible _and that just made it unacceptable. "What questions have you got?" he asked Stan in a low voice.

Mostly what he could expect and his eyes were fixed on the wall as he gave the same, clinical, dispassionate description of his symptoms, and he was practised now in ignoring the physical discomfort.

"Have you ever experienced anything similar before?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, about four months back," he admitted and he ignored Danny's soft gasp of misery.

Stan nodded. "Did you get treated?"

"It went away on its own," he told Stan wretchedly.

There was nothing in Stan's expression that suggested he thought that was stupid or thoughtless. And unlike the doctor before, Rusty thought that was because Stan understood. He found himself relaxing, ever so slightly.

"And have you noticed any other symptoms?" Stan asked after a second. "Any other rashes or anything of the sort?"

He hesitated. "I've got this lump on my tongue," he said at last. "Doesn't hurt."

"Mmm." Stan frowned slightly. "May I see?"

Rusty nodded tightly and Stan pulled a box of latex gloves out of his bag. Rusty turned his head away and stared blindly out the window.

"Rusty," Stan said gently, and Rusty obediently tilted his head back and opened his mouth.

(_A hand gripping his jaw. "Open wide," Jones said, laughing, and clammy flesh pushing past his lips, sliding over his tongue. "Taste good, don't I?")_

Danny's hand was on his. Insistent comfort. He opened his eyes and Stan stepped back and smiled reassuringly at him, pocketing a small torch. "All done," he said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "What else?"

Stan sat down again, his hands folded neatly on the table. "Have you recently had any unexplained fevers or abdomen pain?"

"No," he said, thinking for a moment. Nothing unexplained.

"Any loss of appetite?" Stan went on. "Fatigue? Difficulty sleeping?"

He wondered if nightmares counted and resisted the urge to giggle with an effort.

"Stan," Danny cut in, quiet and pained, and Stan looked abashed.

"Right. We can probably skip that point."

He cringed slightly, hating how much he was affected by this. Hating that everyone knew.

"Okay." Stan leaned forwards and smiled apologetically. "Have you experienced any problems with sexual dysfunction?"

He hesitated for a long moment, acutely conscious of Danny beside him for the first time. "Yes, I mean no, I mean...."

(_The room was cold and they were alone and Moffatt was insistent and persistent, and the touch was vile and shuddersome and inescapable and he wanted it to stop, more than _anything_ he wanted it to stop. But it wasn't doing anything. Moffatt had been trying for – hours? - now and he wasn't getting any reaction at all. _

"_You want this," Moffatt muttered angrily. "Come on, we both know you want this." _

"_I _don't," _Rusty told him, viciously victorious._

_The caress grew faster. Rougher. Jerking and wrenching and Moffatt didn't stop till he'd drawn blood. _

_Rusty laughed in his face.)_

The lights in the room had dimmed for a moment. He blinked and they seemed to refocus.

"I can't anymore," he explained calmly, and he could hear the relief and gratitude in his own voice. "And it's not a problem." He didn't look at Danny. Not even for a second.

But that meant he had to look at Stan and he saw the look of shock and pity. "You know, there could be several - "

" - _It's not a problem,_" he said again, louder and firmer and with just the slightest edge of panic. He knew what he didn't want. Knew what he'd never want again. And the idea of being '_cured_'... It terrified him. Disgusted him.

"Rusty," Danny said softly, and, almost unwillingly, he turned to look at Danny. "It's okay. Whatever you want is okay." And he could see Danny's eyes and Danny meant it.

He breathed slowly for a couple of moments then smiled at Stan. "What's next?"

"I'd like to draw bloods if you're ready?" Stan asked hesitantly, reaching into his bag again.

Rusty rolled up his sleeve and tried not to stare at the hypodermic.

(_Moffatt smiling at him as the needle slid into his arm. "There," the doctor said, disinterestedly. "That should hold him for a few hours. Call me if there's any change."_

"_Oh, I will," Moffatt said eagerly. "You can count on it." _

_The doctor walked off and Rusty wanted to yell after him, beg him not to leave him alone with Moffatt, but he was already gone and Rusty couldn't make a sound._

"_Don't worry," Moffatt breathed, leaning in close to his face. "I'm going to take _good _care of you."_

_The restraints rattled against the bed._

_He wished he could scream.)_

"When was the last time we saw Stan," Danny wondered aloud, his hand resting easily on Rusty's and Moffatt and the infirmary retreated for the moment. "It was in Philly, right? With the ninja?"

"Samurai," Rusty corrected and he thought of the gallery and the little Chinese fans and Danny was drawing him out of one memory straight into another one. "And it wasn't a real one."

Danny grinned. "When I tell the story I was wounded doing battle with a squad of highly trained ninjas."

Rusty snorted. "When _I _tell the story, you cut your leg tripping over a suit of armour while walking backwards."

"This is why I should tell the stories," Danny told him seriously. "_Especially _the one with the stuffed crow in the natural history museum."

"I'd just read 'IT'," Rusty said with dignity. "It was dark. _Everything _was scary."

"All done," Stan told them quietly, fixing a bandaid over Rusty's arm, and in the end Rusty had hardly noticed it was happening. "I'll get those processed by the end of the week. You'll know as soon as possible."

"We're done," Rusty echoed hollowly, and he knew what happened next.

"Hey!" Stan said sharply. "Your pace, remember? You're in charge here. Whenever you're ready."

He nodded tightly and he wanted it over and done with. He got to his feet and fumbled clumsily with his belt. "Where...." He cleared his throat. "How...." He couldn't ask the question.

Stan seemed to understand. "However you're most comfortable," he said.

("_However you like it," Moffatt murmured. "However's best for you. What would you like? On your back? On your hands and knees? Bent over? Come on...you must have a preference."_

_He tried not to think about it. Tried not to play Moffatt's games even in his head. He hated having to look up into Moffatt's eyes. Hated it when Moffatt kissed him, whispered in his ear. And he hated it when Moffatt gripped his hips and told him how wonderful he looked. He didn't have a preference. He didn't have a preference. (It hurt worse on his back.)_

"_Can't decide?" Moffatt sounded sympathetic. "You like it every way, don't you? Long as you're being fucked." He smiled. "We got enough people. Let's see how many we can get through. Just for you.")_

He wrenched himself out of memory with an effort and he was at the other side of the room, bent over, his pants pulled down to his knees, his hands flat on the desk. Danny was sat beside him, perched on the desk, looking straight at him, anxiety and misery well-hidden, comfort and love and strength being offered in abundance. He had to stay focused on Danny. That was the only way he was going to get through this.

Stan was looking at him, he knew that. Standing behind him. He could hear the sound of a bottle. The crinkle of latex. The scream was burning away, deep inside him. He couldn't stand this. He couldn't....and Stan was looking at the scars. Just because he couldn't see didn't mean he didn't know that. He'd heard the gasp (_Shock? Horror? Disgust?) _and he'd caught the look that Danny had aimed at Stan. But he'd realised what Stan must have seen. The stripes running down over his ass and thighs. They'd be all but faded now, he was sure. Silvered over. He couldn't say for certain; he never looked at himself if he could help it. But he remembered where every strike had fallen.

"I'm just going to take a look," Stan said, softly and clearly. "I just need to...I just need to touch you for a moment, Rusty. Is that alright?"

He had to give permission. He had to say it was alright. And if he didn't, nothing would happen. And he was standing here with his pants down and he couldn't say a word. His mouth moved soundlessly.

Danny's hand rested against his cheeks, and he gazed into Danny's eyes and Danny wasn't going to speak for him this time, he knew that. Danny wasn't going to give the permission. And part of him thought that it would be so much easier if he did. If he just let Danny make the choices and the decisions. But Danny never wanted that taken away from him again. And he loved Danny for that.

"Go ahead," he told Stan, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Hands on him. Gentle and professional and careful, but _hands were touching him._

He wanted to scream. He mustn't scream. Mustn't scream or gasp or make a noise. Bad things happened when he made a noise. (_Where was Felding...)_

Dimly, distantly, he heard Stan swear. "These scars...." he said, sounding sickened.

_(_"_These scars," Moffatt said wonderingly, fingers slicked and scissoring. "They feel so _good. _You know, I can even feel them through the condom._ _Really, they could have been put there to make you the perfect fuck. Did Felding like what he'd done, I wonder? Did he ever mention?"_

_Rusty closed his eyes and tried not to think about what Moffatt was enjoying. He didn't know what Felding had thought. He didn't think Felding had cared, except he'd probably quite liked leaving his mark. Scar tissue is less sensitive, he told himself clinically. All those scars that Felding left inside him meant he felt what Moffatt did to him a little less. He didn't believe himself._

"_We didn't really talk," he told Moffatt._

"_Mmmm," Moffatt eased his fingers out and carefully slid himself in. "That's why you're lucky to have me. Great sex _and _intelligent conversation. What more could you ask for?" Barely listening, he shuddered involuntarily as Moffatt started to move inside him, deep and slow. "Oh, you _like _it when I touch you there, don't you?")_

"What scars?" Danny demanded sharply, and Rusty looked up because Danny sounded concerned and frightened. Scars that Danny hadn't seen. Scars that Danny didn't know about.

"Doesn't matter," he said quietly, and Danny looked like he thought it did matter, like he thought it mattered a great deal, but Rusty smiled, and Danny took his hand and he didn't ask again.

"We're almost done," Stan said comfortingly, and Rusty wanted to know exactly what his part in this was. All he'd done was pull his pants down, bend over and take it.

He shuddered and Stan stepped back immediately. "Rusty? You need a minute?"

"Just get it over with," he said through gritted teeth, and the scream was burning through him. He had to stay in control. Had to stay on top of it.

"I need to take a sample," Stan told him hesitantly. "Is that okay? I'll use lidocaine, but it might still hurt a little."

Physical pain. He shrugged. "Go ahead," he said indifferently.

The cream was rubbed in, soothing and numbing, and he bit his lip savagely, desperate to keep quiet.

Danny was there still, sat beside him and Rusty's hand was clasped between Danny's and Danny was looking down at him, constant eye contact, trying no to let him forget where he was even for a second, murmuring a continuous litany of comfort and reassurance and love and...

_(Moffatt was there still, sat beside him and Rusty's hand was trapped between Moffatt's, and Moffatt was looking down at him, constant eye contact, not letting him forget where was even for a second, murmuring a continuous litany of comfort and reassurance and the words were dripping with sincerity and concern and Rusty struggled not to cling to them, and he did his best to let Moffatt see just how much he hated him.) _

"Rusty!" The voice sounded agonised and terrified and Rusty blinked up at the man, confused. He didn't know where he was. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt familiar. No one was touching him right now, but he was half-naked, exposed and vulnerable and he could feel where fingers had been. Sense echo. Someone touching him. Preparing him. He wasn't safe.

He didn't know what was going on but he didn't want it and he had to cling to that knowledge. Had to fight.

Bent over, his hand being held, pain and words of comfort, a medicinal smell...his mind whispered suggestions to him. Moffatt...a game and he'd broken the rules.

A more recognisable reality rose up around him, enveloping him, and he plunged into it before he knew what was happening.

The old woodwork room again and six of them, not including Moffatt, and they'd dragged him in here, and he'd fought the good fight and lost.

His hands were tied behind his back, far too tightly, and he could barely feel the pain in his fingers now, and that was the pain he wanted to concentrate on, not the pain in his knees from where they'd forced him down, not the pain in his shoulders from where they were holding him, not the pain in his mouth and jaw.

He'd already lost the fight today. (_And he was so fucking tired of fighting in the first place.)_ Right now all he wanted to do was be _nothing. _To not exist. Let them fuck something lifeless. Something that wasn't him.

"Hey, Moffatt!" Santos called out cheerfully, thrusting in and out of Rusty's mouth eagerly. "Looks like you've finally tamed your little hellcat."

Rusty froze. He wasn't _tame. _He wasn't Moffatt's. Instinctively, he glanced over to where Moffatt was sitting, perched cross-legged on top of the old woodwork bench the way he so often was. Moffatt liked to watch. But today...today he looked bored.

If Moffatt was getting bored of him that was good. Obviously that was good. Even if...even if it meant that he was tamed. Under control. Moffatt's perfect slave.

Without conscious thought, he wrenched his head away from the hand gripping his jaw and bit down as hard as he could.

Santos screamed.

Rusty grinned, blood running down his lips, and seconds later he was flat on his back as Santos punched him again and again.

"You...little...bitch...You...little...cocksucking...whore!" The punches fell fast and vicious and he couldn't escape and Santos didn't look like he was going to stop. Eight years of mandatory anger management classes didn't seem to have achieved shit. Fuck, what a way to die.

"That's enough," Moffatt said mildly after a moment, and when Rusty looked up Moffatt's hand was on Santos' shoulder, pulling him away and back.

"I'm going to kill the fucker!" Santos snarled, but he was doing what Moffatt told him.

"Now, now, that's not the way to punish a slut," Moffatt scolded. He bent down and stroked Rusty's cheek tenderly. "We wouldn't want to mess up its pretty face, would we?"

"He bit my fucking cock!" Santos exclaimed. "Look!"

Moffatt grimaced. "I'd really rather not. Don't worry. I have something _special _in mind."

He closed his eyes for a second and he was only vaguely conscious as he was dragged across the floor and thrown over the woodwork bench. He started to fight as they spread his legs wide and tied his ankles to the legs of the bench, his feet dangling helplessly. He struggled and spat and swore and when they untied his hands for a moment, he hit out at them as hard as he could, but they grabbed his wrists and stretched them across the bench, tying them down. Then they left him alone for a moment. He wriggled as much as he could, trying to find some give in the ropes. There was none.

"Oh, don't you look _lovely _like that," Moffatt said approvingly from behind him.

He didn't want to think about how he looked. He was used to feeling exposed. This was worse than the usual hell. " Why don't you go fuck yourself?" he suggested fiercely.

Moffatt clucked his tongue and then he was standing right behind Rusty and Rusty struggled to keep from shaking and struggled not to scream. "That wouldn't be very fun for either of us now, would it?" He started trailing something down Rusty's spine, all the way down, stroking onto his inner thigh. Something thin and wooden. "I got the boys in woodwork to make this for you," he told Rusty conversationally. "It cost quite a lot, but I thought it might be worth it if you ever needed punished. And you do, don't you? You've been very naughty."

(_The feeling of metal against him. Torn open. Unbearable pain. Not again, please, please, not again.)_

Moffatt moved round in front of Rusty and held a cane up in front of his eyes. It was thick, long and solid. Rusty's breath caught; it was going to _hurt._

"Are you going to apologise to poor Santos?" Moffatt asked softly. "Give him a proper blowjob to make up for it?"

Santos appeared beside Moffatt scowling heavily.

Rusty's eyes were fixed on the cane in Moffatt's hands. It was going to hurt. Fuck, but it was going to hurt.

He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said, "That I didn't bite it off."

Moffatt smiled widely. "Sounds like you _want _to be punished." He crouched down and looked Rusty straight in the eyes. "Does this excite you? Are you into spanking? Really?" He stood up abruptly and walked round Rusty, his hand gliding over Rusty's body. "You like pain. I'll have to remember that. Did you beg Felding to hurt you, I wonder?" He reached between Rusty's legs quickly and squeezed lovingly and Rusty stifled the cry with difficulty. "It's not really a punishment if you enjoy it, you know."

"Let's do it." Santos' voice was hoarse.

"Okay then," Moffatt said briskly. "Ten strokes each, I think. Is that okay with you?" he asked Rusty solicitously.

Rusty kept his mouth tightly shut. Seventy in total. He'd be in shreds.

"Not enough?" Moffatt sounded sympathetic. "Twelve strokes each then. And I think Santos should go twice, as he's the injured party. That's eighty-four strokes," he told Rusty confidingly as he settled down cross-legged on the workbench, just beside Rusty's face.

It hurt. It hurt so fucking much and they made it a competition. Encouraging each other to hit harder. Varying the time between strokes, making sure he couldn't anticipate them. Taking a run up. Laughing when he couldn't help but flinch and gasp. It hurt and every strike left a line of fire behind. There was nowhere they weren't aiming and it hurt so fucking much.

After the first twelve strokes, Moffatt reached out and held his hand tenderly. "There, there," he said soothingly. "You're doing well. You're being very brave. I know it hurts."

He gazed up at Moffatt, hatred burning deep inside him, and he wanted to swear at the bastard, wanted to tell him exactly what he thought of him, but he didn't dare open his mouth, convinced that the scream would escape.

Rusty lost count of the strikes. Actually, he wasn't so sure anyone was keeping count. Irrationally, he was terrified that meant they'd just keep going forever.

"You should see the colours you're turning," Moffatt commented and he was staring and his voice was full of dreamy lust. Another blow and Rusty jerked helplessly against the bench. "Your bottom is so beautiful right now."

He shuddered and he couldn't hide it and he hated himself.

Pain. More and more pain. Vast, burning agony and he couldn't think of anything else and he couldn't _think _and they were still laughing and the cane hit him again and again and again.

(_He wished he could cry. He wished he could die. He wished Danny.)_

Moffatt was there still, sat beside him and Rusty's hand was clasped between Moffatt's, and Moffatt was looking down at him, constant eye contact, trying not to let him forget where was even for a second, murmuring a continuous litany of comfort and reassurance and the words were dripping with sincerity and concern and Rusty struggled not to cling to them, struggled to remember that he was only hurting because of Moffatt and he shouldn't be grateful.

Moffatt reached out and brushed damp hair away from Rusty's forehead. "There, there," he murmured again. "Why do you make me do these things, huh? I give you every chance you know. You always have to take the hard way, don't you? Is this really what you want? It could be _nice _you know. If you'd only let me, I could make it nice for both of us."

Rusty listened. Shuddered. Did his best to forget.

Eventually they stopped. He lay limply across the desk and he didn't care what he looked like anymore. All he wanted now – all he wanted in the world – was to crawl back to his cell and try his best to forget he existed.

He knew he was a mess. His skin was shredded, he could feel that. He still wasn't going to go to the infirmary. He'd hide it. Somehow. Not like there was anything much on his face. And after last week he'd rather die than face that doctor again.

The others had left at some point. Just him and Moffatt. He closed his eyes and waited and wished.

"Here you go," Danny said, gentle and compassionate and suddenly something cool and soothing was being rubbed on his cuts and welts and the fire eased in its wake. Danny's hands on him. Being looked after. Taken care of. It felt so _good. _

He sighed appreciatively. "Thank you."

Moffatt chuckled. "You're welcome."

Rusty's eyes flew open. Moffatt. Moffatt was here and Danny wasn't. Moffatt was the one rubbing ointment on him....and it still felt good. He felt sick. Disgusted with himself.

"This should be enough to keep you from getting any nasty infections," Moffatt told him. "And it should help with the pain too. Feels nice, doesn't it?"

He didn't say anything. He lay still and let Moffatt do what he wanted, and it was making him feel better and he thought he hated the kindness, and he was shaking and couldn't stop.

"There we go," Moffatt said presently. "All done." He laid the tub down on the bench beside Rusty's head. "You should put some more on in the morning," he told Rusty seriously. "It'll make you feel better."

He stared at the tub. It would. He tried to keep the gratitude out of his eyes.

"You're welcome," Moffatt said softly. "I put some of myself in every drop."

The full meaning of the words didn't hit him for a couple of moments. Then he understood. Then he was helpless to prevent himself from throwing up.

Moffatt pulled a face. "That's disgusting," he told Rusty sharply, and Rusty knew he was actually delighted at the reaction.

He was still shaking. Shock. He wished Moffatt would just let him go...

"Are you cold?" Moffatt asked solicitously. He sighed. "You know, I really wish we'd met somewhere else. We could be happy right now. Imagine. Roasting marshmallows in front of an open fire. Just you and me in our little home in the mountains. A double bed upstairs, just waiting for us. Champagne in the hot tub, maybe. I could spoon-feed you dessert. Doesn't that sound good?"

It sounded....it sounded....

He stared at Moffatt and he wanted to scream.

* * *

Danny had managed to move quickly enough to pull Stan out of the way before Rusty had lunged for him. Fuck. He hadn't seen this coming in time. He'd seen that Rusty was struggling but he'd thought that they were controlling it. He'd thought that he was enough to keep Rusty in the here-and-now.

Rusty took a couple of steps back, staring wildly round the room and not seeing it for a second. Danny didn't know what he _was _seeing, didn't know what memory Rusty was living, but that didn't mean he couldn't see – _feel –_ the absolute terror, the physical pain, the horror and self-disgust, as clearly as if he was there. Rusty was suffering and Danny didn't know how to stop it.

"Rus'," he said softly, experimentally and Rusty didn't even look round at him.

"Rusty? Do you want to sit down for a moment?" Stan was sounding impressively calm. As if he was just in the middle of any conversation.

"He can't hear you, Stan," Danny told him quietly, his eyes fixed on Rusty's face. Rusty's lips were moving but Danny had no idea what he was saying.

He glanced back at the door. Locked, and he and Stan were between it and Rusty. And the window was off to the side. One less danger to worry about. Immediately, anyway. And Rusty was balanced against the far wall, flight rather than fight, but Danny was still afraid to get close. He'd promised that he'd restrain Rusty – that he'd _hurt _Rusty – if it was necessary, but he really didn't want to.

"Just stay back for the moment, Stan," he pleaded quietly. "I'll handle this."

"This has happened before?" Stan whispered sharply and Danny heard the blame, whether it was there or not.

"Not for a while," he whispered back fiercely. It _had _been a while since Rusty had got fully lost. A while since he hadn't been enough to bring Rusty back. He'd got careless and complacent and he should have known better. "He's not crazy, Stan," he said, practically snarling.

"I _know_ he's not crazy," Stan answered sharply and Danny felt the tiniest bit reassured.

He stepped forwards, stepped straight into Rusty's line of sight, his hands spread wide and open, broadcasting _not-a-threat _as clearly as possible. "Rusty? It's over now. You're not there anymore. There's no one here who wants to hurt you."

The look of absolute and utter hatred that Rusty shot at him was enough to make him take a few steps backwards and he had to remind himself that it wasn't meant for him. That he wasn't the one Rusty was seeing.

He swallowed and tried again. "It's Danny. Look around. You're in a hotel room." He thought about the way Rusty's mind worked. Thought about what he knew helped. "Pay attention. There's carpet under your feet. You can feel it. The TV's still on. You can hear it. _I'm _here. Whatever's happening isn't really happening, I swear it."

".....Danny?" Rusty's voice was coming from a long time ago and a long way away and he sounded hopeful and suspicious and desolate, all at once.

"Yeah, Rus'. I'm here," he promised.

".....You weren't _you_ before," Rusty said, quiet and uncertain.

Danny closed his eyes for a moment and he tried not to imagine all the things that could mean. "It's really me. I promise."

"You said...you said you weren't going to wait for me," Rusty said softly, and Danny could hear the frozen moment of absolute pain and fear that Rusty was trapped in, the moment who-knew-how-long-ago when Rusty had been desperate for his help; and his heart broke.

"I'm here now," he said, and his voice was trembling and that wasn't good enough, that wasn't _nearly _good enough. "I'm here now," he said again and now his voice was steady and the anguish and heartache were nowhere to be heard. Nothing but love and support and strength. He held out his hand carefully and after a moment, Rusty focused on it and hesitantly took it in his.

"_Danny," _he murmured, certainty for the first time, and Danny pulled him gently into his arms. "Oh, Danny, I was - "

" - I know," Danny whispered and kissed his hair fiercely. "I've got you."

On some level he was aware of Stan on the other side of the room, looking away, giving them their privacy. He didn't care. He just held Rusty tightly until he was absolutely certain that Rusty was back with him. And he knew when that was, because he felt Rusty tense up.

"_Fuck," _Rusty said in a low voice, and he stepped back out of Danny's reach, turning his face away, sudden, miserable embarrassment. "Sorry."

Stan stepped forwards immediately. "This isn't your fault, Rusty," he said firmly. "You have nothing to apologise for."

Danny echoed the thought, silently and fiercely.

"How are you feeling?" Stan went on.

Rusty shrugged. "Fine." He pulled up his underwear and pants. "We're done now, yeah?"

"Yes....Can I just take your pulse?" Stan asked casually and Rusty nodded and sat down and Stan gently took his wrist. Rusty flinched but nodded to Stan to keep going. "It's very high," Stan said after a moment. "Okay. Stand up a moment, will you Rusty?"

Danny frowned. "What are you - "

" - it's a relaxation technique," Stan told both of them. "It could be helpful for you. When you feel anxious or frightened. Is that okay?"

Rusty actually looked interested and Danny felt a stab of optimism. "What do I do?"

Stan smiled. "Put your right hand on your chest and your left hand on your stomach. Right, now move your left hand and keep your right hand still. Okay, now breathe in – slowly – hold your breath for one, two, three - and breathe out. Good. Now try it again."

A few cycles through, and Danny could see the tension draining away. Eventually Rusty opened his eyes and smiled at Stan. "Thank you," he said.

"All part of the job," Stan said cheerfully. He hesitated. "It's not my area, you know that, but there are people who could help you. I could give you a couple of names. Doctors I know. All good guys, all discreet."

"Not interested," Rusty said immediately. Danny wasn't surprised. Stan didn't look surprised either.

"Okay then," Stan said, and he reached into his bag and took out a prescription pad. "I'm going to write you a prescription for aciclovir. It's a topical cream, it should help with the symptoms." He hesitated. "I'm also going to prescribe you an anti-depressant. It should help with the anxiety. Okay?"

Rusty frowned and said nothing, and Danny had a feeling that there was one prescription that would never get filled. They'd talk about it. Maybe it would help. Stan clearly thought it would.

"You mind if I talk to Danny for a moment?" Stan asked casually.

"Sure," Rusty said simply, and he took the prescriptions, walked to the other side of the room and sat down in front of the TV.

Danny frowned at Stan as they walked to the door. "What?"

Stan was looking at him, worried and apologetic. "Those scars on his thigh....I can tell by the angle.....Danny - "

" - he did it to himself," Danny interrupted. "I know."

There was compassion in Stan's eyes. "This is serious, Danny,"

"You honestly think for one moment that I'm not taking this seriously?" Danny demanded. He sighed, forcing himself to calm down. "I _know _he hasn't hurt himself for a month now." (_Not deliberately, anyway.)_ "He told me what he was doing and since then he's told me whenever he's thinking about it. I told you, Stan. We're dealing."

"You ever think he might be...." Stan trailed off, and Danny knew what it was that Stan didn't want to say.

"I _know _he's not suicidal," he told Stan fiercely. "I know because he told me so."

He held Stan's gaze easily until eventually Stan looked away. "Okay, then," he said.

"We're doing okay, Stan," he said, and maybe 'okay' wasn't quite the same as it had been once, but it was still the truth.

"The test results should be through within the week. I'll call you the moment I know," Stan said. He shook Danny's hand. "Try not to worry too much, okay?"

Yeah. That wasn't going to happen.

* * *

A week. A week and Rusty didn't want to leave the hotel room. Didn't want to deal with people. Danny indulged him. To a certain extent, anyway.

Not wanting to face the world was one thing. But that wasn't the same thing as staying in bed and moping. Danny was merciless in keeping Rusty alive in their own world. A week of room service dessert, all their favourite movies, every joke and story that Danny didn't think Rusty had heard.

He absolutely did not let Rusty dwell on the tests and he tried not to think of them himself, at least when he thought Rusty would notice. Several times a day, Rusty excused himself to apply the cream, and each time Danny had to take extra care to talk away the distance and the shame. Each morning, he offered Rusty the antidepressants, and he was still half-expecting Rusty to say no. They would wait and see if they worked. There'd been a long discussion on the first day. He hadn't insisted and he hadn't pleaded and he'd tried so hard not to manipulate - tried so hard not to tell Rusty how frightened he was each and every time he saw the lost and the distant. But then, he never needed to say things out loud for Rusty to know and, hours later, in the middle of a discussion about the cultural significance of pie, Rusty reached across and took the bottle of antidepressants out of Danny's pocket.

Still. For the most part it was food and movies and memories. Endless games of _What if?_ and _How could we_? and he smiled as Rusty used a pillow case and a permanent marker to explain exactly why they couldn't possibly get into Roland Vickers' house like Danny had suggested, and smiled even more when Rusty used the bedsheet and the same permanent marker to explain how it _could _be done.

Sleep didn't really happen. For either of them. A couple of hours here and there, and they'd wake up with a different sort of _What if? _and a more painful _How do we? _and the only consolation to be had was that comfort was shared and immediate.

They were surviving. But waiting was hell.

They met Stan back in the same hotel room. Stan was already there when they arrived, and Danny liked the fact that he smiled at them in greeting. A good sign, surely?

"First things first," Stan said, the moment they sat down. "The HIV test came back negative."

"But..." Rusty's eyes were wide and his voice was shocked and disbelieving. "Are you _sure_?"

"Yes," Stan told him gently. "We'll need to run another test in three months, and one nine months after that before we're completely sure you're in the clear, but in all likelihood? You're not infected."

For a moment, Danny thought he was going to cry. God. It was like someone had just taken the weight of the universe away from him.

"I...I...I was _sure...." _Rusty sounded like he couldn't take it in, and Danny took his hand and squeezed gently.

"'s okay, Rus'," he said thickly, and there were tears in Rusty's eyes.

"What about hepatitis?" Rusty asked after a moment.

"Tests came back negative," Stan said, smiling. The smile faded. "That's the good news."

Rusty nodded and took a deep breath. "What do I have, then?"

"You tested positive for syphilis, chlamydia and herpes," Stan told him. "The symptoms you're experiencing are a herpes outbreak. Probably not the initial outbreak. They should subside within two to four weeks." He hesitated. "The sore on your tongue is early stage syphilis."

Danny winced and Rusty pulled his hand away and stared down at the table, and Danny could see the blush rising in his cheeks, could feel the sense of disgust, dirt and shame that Rusty was wrapped in.

"They're treatable, Rusty," he said gently and glanced quickly at Stan. "Right?"

Stan nodded. "The syphilis and chlamydia should be cleared up with a course of antibiotics. I'll prescribe penicillin - "

" - he's allergic to penicillin," Danny cut in quickly.

"There are other antibiotics that should be effective," Stan told him. "I'll prescribe a four week course of tetracycline and we'll do the tests again."

Rusty's eyes were still on the table, and he wasn't saying anything.

"Rusty, it's good news," Stan promised. "You're going to be fine."

"Herpes isn't curable, right?" Rusty said at last.

"No," Stan agreed, grimacing. "You'll be prone to re-occurrences for the rest of your life. But it's manageable. That cream I prescribed; it'll help with the symptoms."

"Thank you," Rusty said distantly and Danny _knew _how much he hated this, knew the horror at the realisation that this was forever; a permanent reminder of what had happened and he felt every inch of it, right along with Rusty.

Danny reached out and squeezed Rusty's forearm. "It's going to be okay," he said simply. They'd get through it. Together they were as near to unbeatable as made no odds.

Rusty looked at him and forced a smile. "Yeah."

* * *

They made their way back to their own hotel in silence. Really, Rusty figured they were both too exhausted to speak. It had been an exceptionally long week and now it was over.....he knew he should feel happy. He suspected that by tomorrow he _would _feel happy. Just that right now, he was almost too tired to care. The only thing that was keeping him together was the knowledge of Danny, and he suspected – he knew – that just the same was true in reverse. They were together so they were strong.

"I'm going to take a shower," he told Danny the moment they were through the door.

Danny nodded sympathetically and he didn't need to ask aloud; Rusty left the door ajar and kept the water cool, even though it didn't make him feel clean. He could feel still feel fingers moving inside him. It bothered him that he wasn't sure who he was remembering.

He came out of the bathroom after about half an hour, fully dressed and towelling his hair dry. Danny was sitting on the sofa, looking effortfully calm and relaxed. He looked up and Rusty could see the depths of uncertainty in his eyes.

"There's a Hershey bar on your pillow," Danny said, as casually as could be imagined. "I put it there."

Slowly, he walked over to the bed and stared down at the chocolate for a long moment. Memory and revulsion rose up in him. Moffatt giving him chocolate and everything that meant. But...but this wasn't Moffatt. This was Danny. And that meant something too. When Danny bought him chocolate, it meant Danny was thinking about him. Meant Danny cared about him.

And this...this was about telling him that life went on. That they should think of the future. That Danny wanted _all _of him healed.

A year and a half of Moffatt. Nineteen years of Danny. Both lifetimes, in their own way. Memories of horror clashed with memories of love.

He reached down and picked up the chocolate bar and only then was he aware of Danny standing behind him.

Unwrapping the chocolate, he smiled tenderly at Danny and delighted in the answering smile, in the anxiety faded.

Moffatt or Danny. And Danny wasn't going to let Moffatt win.

He didn't say _thank you _and he couldn't say _I love you _but he broke the chocolate bar in two and pressed half into Danny's hand, and he knew Danny understood.


	10. Two months after Part 1

**A/N: Yes, another two part chapter. But the second part is more than half written so it shouldn't be long. And this story remains 12 chapters long, by the way! _In my mind_**_!_

**A/N2: Certain things from 'Won't be Waiting' and 'I Guess we're done' are referenced in here. Don't think reading them is essential, but it might help. **

**A/N3: For InSilva, for the preread and for being patient and understanding. Even if she does say I'm useless. ;)**_  
_

* * *

There was a certain feeling of déjà vu here.

He was sitting in Catherine's office behind her desk, holding a milkshake in a plastic cup, waiting for Catherine to get in.

Was just like four years ago.

Only difference was, Danny was spread out on the couch in the corner, sipping coffee and looking just a little impatient. Danny was here with him and that meant that it was as different as could be imagined.

There was a noise in the doorway and Catherine unlocked her office door, stepped inside, saw him and jumped about a foot in the air, dropping her files on the floor.

Definite déjà vu.

"I told you that you needed to get better locks, Catherine," he scolded her mildly.

Danny picked up the file that she'd dropped and handed it to her, smiling unaffectedly. "It's nice to see you again."

She looked from one to the other of them. "And you...Rusty, when did you get out?"

"Few months back," he said easily. "Coffee?"

She took the polystyrene cup absently. "Thanks. I take it this isn't a social call?"

When was it ever?

"We need you to set up some paperwork for us," Danny said, stepping forwards. "The legit stuff. Power of attorney...everything that Rusty got you to cancel four years ago."

Her smile was genuine and delighted. "I can do that."

* * *

Danny didn't think he was going to stop smiling anytime soon as they walked away from Catherine's office. Even the painful moment. after Catherine had made Rusty promise that he'd call _her _if he was arrested again, and Rusty had laughed and said he wasn't planning on getting arrested again, and she'd given him a look and sharply pointed out that she didn't imagine he'd planned on getting arrested the first time round – even that hadn't managed to completely dampen the relief and the exultation.

Rusty was a part of his life. Rusty had made sure that Danny got to be a part of his life, no matter what. And it _mattered. _

"Only you could be pleased about two hours spent signing your name," Rusty told him seriously.

The smile got just a bit broader. "That was the best birthday present I've had in a long time."

Rusty looked at him. "Wasn't your birthday present," he said firmly. "That was just a good idea."

"Yeah," he sighed contentedly. A very good idea.

Rusty shook his head and darted down a side street in a direction that was anything but random. "Come on," he called back, sounding amused. "You can buy me some lunch."

He hurried to catch up. "Whose birthday is it anyway?" he demanded.

* * *

Rusty had never forgotten Danny's birthday. Not once, not since he'd met Danny. And that included the four years he'd spent inside.

_The first year, it had been just a little while before Kowalski and the first time. He'd been surviving, existing, trying not to think of Danny any more than all day, every day. And that first year, Danny's birthday, and he'd actually thought of getting in touch. Oh, not a phonecall, definitely not that. Nothing that Danny had to respond to. He'd thought of sending something, just some little token that would tell Danny that he was okay, maybe even show Danny that he still remembered, whether Danny wanted him to or not. In the end he hadn't. A clean break was kinder, he told himself. But he'd conned Big Mick out of the hooch he'd stolen from RJ and he'd left Mick standing there with three tins of floor polish, wearing just his socks and a confused expression, and he'd let himself imagine the amusement in Danny's eyes, let himself fill in Danny's half of the conversation. Natural justice and a Dannylike plan, and he'd lain in his bunk and drank the hooch that RJ had given him by way of saying 'thanks' and he'd wished Danny Happy Birthday inside his head._

_The second year he hadn't considered getting in touch. Was already far too late for that and nowadays, when he tried to imagine Danny, there was more disappointment than amusement in his eyes. Still, he tricked the guards into giving Fernando an extra phone card and he won a slug of rum in a poker game and that was a sort of celebration. All he needed was some pineapple, some coconut and a maraschino cherry and he'd have a drink worth drinking. In the meantime, he hoped Danny was happy. Hoped he and Tess were somewhere they called home, living a good life. Hoped Danny had everything he could possibly want._

_The third year he'd been in the infirmary. Felding, of course, but it hadn't been so bad. Couple of stitches in an intimate area, couple of cracked ribs, couple of weeks of not talking while he gave the bruises on his throat and vocal cords time to heal and that was about it. Danny's birthday and it had been a day since Felding had hurt him and he was still in the place of painkillers and numbness, lying in bed while Moffatt gently pressed chipped ice to his lips. He couldn't feel _anything_. And somewhere, in his head and out of it, Danny was blowing out thirty seven candles on a birthday cake. Wasn't a bad life. _

_Fourth year there had been Moffatt. For over nine months now, there had been Moffatt. And it wasn't surprising that he was trapped in one of Moffatt's little games on Danny's birthday, wasn't surprising at all._

_Moffatt and Danny were worlds apart. And he'd been at the bottom of the paint factory, with Moffatt and RJ and Santos when they'd heard the guard coming down the stairs. There'd been a mad scramble. Soft swearing. Pulling clothes on. And by the time Mr. Cready was standing staring at them, Rusty's hands were untied and they were all fully dressed._

"_What's going on?" Mr Cready demanded._

"_Nothing," Moffatt said immediately, and the others murmured their agreement._

_Mr Cready didn't look like he believed them._

"_We were just sorting these boxes," Moffatt added convincingly._

_Rusty could feel the stickiness caked between his legs. He could taste the bitter salt at the back of his throat. And he knew that if he stood up, Mr Cready would be able to see the blood staining the bottom of his overalls, he could already feel it slowly pooling beneath where he was sat._

_Mr Cready was still watching. Still frowning._

_Rusty blinked heavily, innocently, and gestured at the boxes surrounding them. "Mr Warner told us to tidy up a bit," he explained. Warner and Cready hated each other. No way Cready would ever check the story. "For the warden's inspection tomorrow. We're nearly done."_

_The story was plausible, and he and Moffatt at least were trusted. After a couple of warnings, Cready left them to their work. _

_Santos had him on his back almost before Cready's footsteps had faded away._

_Moffatt's thumb brushed over his lips tenderly. "My, my, aren't you the eager little liar?" _

_He turned his face away._

_On Danny's birthday, he figured that the very best he could do for Danny was to try not to think of him, even for a second. Danny and Moffatt were worlds apart. And Rusty knew where he belonged._

He still knew where he belonged.

And where he belonged was here, with Danny, in this ridiculous restaurant, watching Danny look down doubtfully at the glass floor and the people milling around the carousel far below.

"Makes me glad I'm not wearing a skirt," Danny commented as the waiter led them to their private table.

Rusty grinned. "Oh, I'm glad you're not wearing a skirt too," he assured Danny.

"The underside of the glass is frosted, sirs," the waiter assured them. "Our customers cannot be seen by the public."

He frowned at Danny. "Think he's trying to tell you that you can wear a skirt if you really like," he whispered and Danny's face was carefully blank.

"Can I bring you the wine list?" the waiter asked, as they got settled at the table.

Rusty opened his mouth but Danny beat him to it. "Just a glass of coke and a mineral water," he said firmly.

He waited until the waiter had vanished before he objected. "It's your birthday," he said quietly. He wanted to celebrate. Properly.

"You're on antibiotics," Danny said, meeting his gaze easily.

Yeah. And he didn't _want _this to interfere, he wanted this one day to be about Danny. All about Danny.

"There'll be other times," Danny said steadily. "In the meantime, I'm with you and that's all I need."

He raised an eyebrow.

Danny smiled slightly. "It's my birthday. I'm allowed to be sentimental."

"That in the rules now?" he asked lightly.

"Since when are there rules?" Danny wondered.

He laughed. Okay. No alcohol. He supposed he could live with that. As long as they were together.

* * *

Danny had no idea where Rusty had found this restaurant but he loved it. The food was fantastic and there was something to be said for people watching through the floor. And the company, of course, was the very best that he could ask for.

His last four birthdays hadn't been like this.

Oh, they hadn't been bad. The first three Tess had been there and she'd loved him and she'd done her very best to make him happy, to make it matter. Certainly there had been cake and presents and everything he'd thought he wanted. It had just never been enough. All the time, he'd felt dead inside. Empty.

And last year he'd been with Linus, in Philadelphia, and they'd been right in the middle of reconnaissance on David Barker's house, and he didn't even know how Linus had found out, but he had, and he'd taken Danny out for drinks and pizza and it really had been _fun. _Danny had kept the kid laughing for hours at all the stories that didn't mention Rusty.

But this was better, of course. This was much better.

They lingered over lunch, and it wasn't until Danny was scooping up the last spoonful of lemon tiramisu that Rusty smiled at him and passed the envelope across the table.

"Happy Birthday, Danny," he said.

Danny smiled at him. "Thank you"

"You haven't even seen what it is yet," Rusty pointed out, sounding amused.

Didn't matter what it was. It really didn't. But he opened it anyway. "_Oh," _he breathed.

Invitations to the Oscars. Two.

He felt the smile widen impossibly. Oh, that was going to be _amazing. _Chance of a lifetime.

"We're going to need to stay in character," Rusty warned apologetically. "You're a big-shot writer and I'm a special effects guru. And we probably want to dodge the red carpet."

Didn't matter. Danny smiled appreciatively. "Thank you," he said again softly and he watched Rusty smile.

And the experience – fantastic though it sounded – was only half of the present. The other half, the half that was even more wonderful, the half that made him feel like his heart would just burst, was in what Rusty was telling him. What Rusty was offering him.

The Oscars weren't until March. More than six months away. And Rusty had got tickets – was making plans – for a future that wasn't simply abstract. Meant that Rusty wanted him to know that in six months time he'd still be here. Still be with Danny. Life wasn't just about day to day survival anymore and Danny simply couldn't be happier.

"Thank you," he said again, meeting Rusty's eyes, and he knew that they both knew exactly what he was thankful for.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day in aimless joy. Eventually, drinking coffee and watching the people go by in the restaurant got dull and they headed out into the world.

A short cut through the park and there was some kind of festival going on and they stood on a bridge in silence and watched as a thousand balloons were launched into the sky. Behind them, a nervous looking girl holding a Polaroid camera asked if they wanted their picture taken.

"Yes," Danny said at once. "Oh, yes."

Rusty handed over twenty dollars and ten minutes later the picture had vanished inside Danny's jacket like it was more precious than any jewel, and he had simply smiled and shaken his head at Rusty's thoughtful look.

A movie theatre chosen at random and the movie showing was quite possibly the worst they'd ever seen and their silent commentary didn't let up for a second and it became a game of 'who can make the other laugh first'.

It was a perfect day and Danny still couldn't stop smiling as they headed back to the hotel room with a selection of new DVDs.

Night of movies and room service and Rusty.

Why would he want anything more?

* * *

It had been a good day. Rusty was happy. "You want a drink?" he asked Danny, over his shoulder, as they walked into the room and he dropped his jacket casually over the back of the couch. "Might have managed to pick up a bottle of eighteen-year-old malt _and _keep it hidden."

There was silence. Very definitely no answer.

He sighed and paused in the act of removing the whisky from his suitcase. "I wasn't going to have any. You're still allowed to drink, you know even if..."

He trailed off, suddenly aware that he wasn't even close to what Danny had been thinking of.

Abandoning the whisky, he quickly turned round and Danny was staring at him, misery in his eyes.

The last time. The last time they'd had a day like this and he'd been falling over himself to make Danny happy, and they'd come back and he'd fixed Danny a drink and...

"Oh, Danny," he said, softly, horrified, crossing the room in a heartbeat, grasping Danny's hands quickly. "I'm sorry. No drugs. Not ever again."

"Better not be," Danny murmured, taking a deep breath and his voice was still a little shaky.

The guilt was inescapable and he held Danny's hands tightly. "Not ever again," he repeated, and it was all the promise Danny would ever need.

After a moment Danny smiled crookedly at him. "You planning on letting go anytime soon?"

"Hadn't thought of it," he said simply.

Danny nodded seriously. "Could make it difficult to get things done."

He shrugged and made no attempt to let go. "I like to think we're adaptable."

"Right," Danny agreed. "Only there's chocolate tart with cappuccino mousse on the menu. You really want to try eating without your hands?"

A shard of memory screamed in his head and he blinked away the echo furiously, and without even thinking about it he'd let go of Danny's hands, and stepped away.

Danny was looking at him anxiously, apologising immediately without even knowing why, asking all the questions, and Rusty shook his head. Nothing they needed to talk about. Nothing he couldn't cope with.

Nodding slowly, Danny smiled. "Should have known you'd choose chocolate tart over me," he said lightly.

"_Never," _Rusty said fiercely, before he'd even thought about playing.

The look in Danny's eyes told him that Danny didn't really mind. Not one bit.

He cleared his throat and turned away. "Do you want the – "

" – let's save it," Danny said decidedly. "We'll open it when Stan says you're allowed to drink again." There was an unspoken thought hanging in the air; Danny thought that whisky tasted better when it was shared.

Sounded good to him. "So you mentioned chocolate tart?" he asked brightly, reaching for the room service menu.

Danny had his phone in his hand. "Didn't turn it back on after we left the movie theatre," he commented. "Huh. Three missed calls."

"It _is _your birthday," Rusty pointed out, checking his wallet ruefully. He'd meant to hit the ATM. Not much he could offer for a tip.

Danny nodded absently. "Linus, Reuben and..." He trailed off.

Rusty looked at him sharply. "What?" he demanded, fearfully, possibilities flying through his head.

"Tess..." Danny said blankly.

"Oh," he exhaled. "You – "

" – yeah," Danny said quietly. "Yeah. I have to."

He nodded uncertainly. "You want me to – "

That got a grateful smile. " – no. You stay here. I'll just..." He nodded vaguely towards the door. "Just get me the grilled chicken and the apricot parfait, will you? Oh, and there's cash in my wallet."

Rusty watched him walk out the door and just a little bit of his good mood had evaporated. He turned the TV on and resolutely didn't think about Tess or about DannyandTess and he pretended that the TV wasn't the only thing keeping him from feeling utterly lonely.

Danny still wasn't back by the time their food arrived. He let the guy push the trolley inside and grabbed Danny's wallet for the tip.

He was still staring into Danny's wallet a long time after the guy had left.

* * *

Danny sat on the stairs and stared blankly at his phone. He'd called Linus first and then Reuben. That had been easy. Just like expected. They'd wanted to wish him a happy birthday, wanted to know how he was, how they'd been doing, _what _they'd been doing, and he'd shared the easy stories and asked the deflecting questions and he _liked _talking to them. Easy.

Tess...he didn't know what he wanted to say to her. Didn't know if he wanted to say _anything _to her.

Oh, he'd texted her after the Benedict job. Just a quick message to let her know that everything was settled, that everyone was safe. It had been short. Abrupt. Maybe even rude.

And she'd called him a couple of times in the days that followed, but those had been the bad days, the days of no sleep and constant fear, the days when they'd had to keep moving for fear of losing everything, the days when he'd been genuinely afraid that if he closed his eyes – even for a second – then Rusty would be gone. In the midst of all that, talking to Tess hadn't seemed so very important.

He hadn't talked to her. And now he didn't know how. Every time he thought of her he remembered that four years ago she'd known what Rusty was planning, she'd _agreed _to what Rusty was planning, and she hadn't told him. And for three years after that they'd slept in the same bed and she'd never said a word.

And yet he still loved her.

And yet he'd _always _still love her.

He gave up on searching for the right words.

The phone only rang twice before she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Tess." His voice was hoarse.

"Danny!" She sounded shocked. "I wasn't expecting...I mean you haven't..." She sighed. "Happy Birthday, Danny."

"Thanks," he said and the pause was awkward and interminable. "So, how are you?" he asked at last.

"Fine," she said immediately. "And you?"

"I'm okay," he told her.

There was another long moment. "And Rusty?" she asked tentatively. "Is he...is he okay? Have you seen him?"

He couldn't help himself. "You actually care?"

"That's not _fair_, Danny," she said, and her voice was soft and hurt. "This was _never _what I wanted."

"I know," he said quietly. "I know that."

"So you forgive me?" The question was eager. Urgent.

He should answer her. He knew he should. Even if it was a lie, he should say _something._ But somehow, he couldn't say anything at all.

The silence stretched out endlessly.

"I'm _sorry, _Danny," she said, quiet and anguished.

"Yeah," he said. "I know." He sighed.

"Will you come and see me?" she asked hesitantly. "I think maybe we need to talk."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he said at once. He wasn't sure of a lot of things and he didn't want Rusty and Tess close to each other and he didn't want to leave Rusty alone.

"_Please_," Tess said insistently.

He sighed again. "I'll think about it, Tess."

"Good. I've...I've got to go." Her voice sounded choked and she hung up abruptly and he thought that maybe she didn't want him to hear her cry.

He never wanted to make her cry.

God. He didn't know the right thing to do. And he wanted to talk to Rusty about it, except the _last _thing he wanted to do was talk to Rusty about it. Like Rusty didn't have enough problems.

He sat on the stairs and stared blankly at his phone and he was taken completely by surprise when it actually started ringing. In fact, he answered it without even checking the number.

"Hello," he said, wondering with a tremor of guilt if Rusty had maybe got worried about him.

"Happy Birthday, Danny." Saul's voice was warm and Danny found himself smiling immediately.

"Thanks," he answered. "How have you been?"

They swapped stories for a few moments, nothing terribly exciting, nothing significant, but that didn't mean it wasn't enough to make Danny's day just that bit brighter.

"How's Rusty?" Saul asked presently, and there was just a hint in his voice, just the barest sense of unrest and quiet misery.

Danny knew that Rusty had talked to Saul just a few days ago. He also knew that Rusty hadn't _talked _to Saul for a lot longer than that. And he knew that the last time Saul had actually _seen _Rusty had been the end of the Benedict job and that was two months back now.

"He's doing okay, Saul," he said sincerely. "Really he is."

"Yes," Saul said, and again the unhappiness was almost completely hidden. "That is what he always says too."

"I'm not lying, Saul," he promised gently.

"But there is something," Saul said heavily.

Danny hesitated because there _was_, there was always something, and he didn't know exactly what it was, and he didn't want to tell Saul that Rusty had a problem with him.

"Is he hurt?" Saul asked with quiet agony.

"No," Danny said immediately.

There was silence.

Danny couldn't exactly lie. "Well, no more than...he's doing better, Saul."

"Is he...is he upset with me?" Saul asked in a whisper.

"No!" Danny's denial was instantaneous. It wasn't that. He _knew _it wasn't that. "Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Danny," Saul said with a sigh. "I shouldn't have...I'll let you get back to your evening. Happy Birthday again." His voice was cheerful as he wished Danny good night and Danny wasn't fooled for a second.

"Bye, Saul," he said and he heard the phone hang up.

He bit his lip. That was two people he cared about upset tonight. And he didn't know what he wanted to do about Tess but he was certainly going to do something for Saul.

Oh, he knew that wasn't what Saul wanted. Not like Saul had phoned him up with an ulterior motive; he had wanted to wish Danny a happy birthday, nothing more. The rest, Saul just wasn't able to hide.

Already he was thinking. Plans in motion. No trickery, no manipulation, no forcing _anyone _to do anything they didn't want to...But there were opportunities. And he could always make suggestions.

When he walked back into their hotel room Rusty looked up sharply like he was startled to see him, and Danny caught sight of something vanishing into Rusty's pocket.

"Everything alright?" Rusty asked, studying Danny anxiously, and now Danny was the one caught by surprise.

"Yeah," he said, closing the door behind him.

"How's Tess?" Rusty asked carefully.

"Fine," he said and he watched Rusty absorb the lie with narrowed eyes.

Rusty just nodded though. "Right. Food's here."

It was still hot. He couldn't have been gone for quite as long as he thought.

They ate in silence for a while.

"You know, I was thinking," he began, spearing a piece of chicken carefully with his fork. "You know couple of weeks back? That plan we figured for Roland Vicker's house? It really could work. We could make it work."

Rusty didn't look up from his plate. "Would need more than two of us."

"Yeah," he agreed, and he left it a beat. "Vickers' house is only an hour from Saul's new place, isn't it?"

"_No," _Rusty said immediately and Danny knew that the disagreement had nothing to do with his grasp of geography.

He sighed. "It would be fun, Rus'. We've been talking about hitting Vickers for _years. _And this is the first workable plan – "

" – sure, but Saul won't be interested," Rusty said quickly. "He's talking about retiring, settling down – "

" – He's been talking about retiring for years now," Danny pointed out glibly. "One last job is always gonna appeal."

Rusty looked stricken and Danny bit his tongue. Yeah, Saul had been talking about getting out of the game for a while. But Rusty hadn't been here for any of those conversations.

"Rus'..." He sighed and shook his head. "You could ask him," he suggested gently. Not like Saul was going to say no. Not like Saul wouldn't jump at the opportunity to see Rusty again.

"You going to see her?" Rusty asked abruptly.

"What?" For once Danny was bewildered by the change in conversation. How had they gotten onto Tess exactly?"

In response, Rusty pulled Danny's wallet out of his pocket and tossed it over to him.

Danny stared at the wallet blankly for a moment before realisation dawned. _Oh..._He reached into the wallet and pulled out his wedding ring. "This?" he asked. "It's over, Rusty."

Rusty disagreed. "It's not."

It wasn't. "It's _almost _over," he offered instead. "And yes, I kept the ring." He risked a smile. "Face it, we both know I'm all about the sentimental. You think I wouldn't have kept it?"

Rusty's eyes flickered involuntarily to Danny's left wrist. "Guess you're right," he said brightly, desperately trying to cover the moment.

Danny's smile froze. Automatically, he pulled his sleeve down, trying to hide the watch that wasn't there, the watch he'd thrown away. He'd never found anything to replace it. Nothing that felt right. Oh, he had a watch that he wore when he had to and it was...nice. Subtle. Expensive. Comfortable. But it wasn't the watch he'd worn every day for fifteen years. It wasn't his watch.

"I think you should," Rusty said, after a second. "See Tess, I mean. You want to."

He did. Almost as much as he didn't. "It's complicated," he said shortly.

"You want to see her," Rusty said again.

"Why don't you want to talk to Saul?" Danny demanded just a little too sharply.

"It's not..." Rusty shook his head and ran his hand agitatedly through his hair. "Look. Let's just forget this, huh? It's your birthday. Let's just watch some DVDs or something." He smiled persuasively. "You got birthday cake in the fridge, you know."

Danny hesitated. It was almost tempting. Just let the pain drift by and enjoy the rest of the evening. But he couldn't. He swallowed hard. "I want to see Tess again," he admitted. "It's just...in Vegas...things ended suddenly. She's got questions. I've got questions. I hurt her," _And she hurt me, _he didn't add. "I want – "

" – you want to make things right," Rusty finished, and his eyes were fixed on Danny's, and his voice was understanding.

He nodded jerkily. "Yeah."

"I think you should see her, Danny. You're not going to be happy unless you do."

And maybe that was true, but he didn't want to take Rusty with him, he remembered the lie that Carson had convinced Tess of. Him and Rusty as lovers. And Tess hadn't believed that when she'd left, but he couldn't risk there being any doubt in his mind. It wasn't an accusation that Rusty should have to face. If there was any argument it was between him and Tess; he didn't want Rusty anywhere near it.

"Sometime," he offered.

"Soon," Rusty countered and Danny frowned because Rusty's smile was forced and distant.

He stared. "Rus'," he began gently. "Me and Tess aren't going to get back together again. You know that, right?"

Rusty turned his head away sharply. "If it's because of me – "

Oh, he was putting a stop to _that _thought right now. " – nothing to do with – "

Rusty carried on talking, not looking at Danny, not listening to Danny. " – just because I'm all fucked-in-the-head doesn't mean you can't live your life – "

" – I got divorced, and you are _not _'fucked-in-the-head – " Danny said tightly

" – I want you happy," Rusty finished desperately.

"So do I," Danny rejoined immediately.

Rusty looked at him anxiously. "Tess – "

" – yeah," Danny agreed. He understood, honestly he did. He was hurting and Rusty wanted to make it better. "I need to talk to her. Nothing more than that."

"Okay," Rusty said, and Danny knew he was only half-convinced but he didn't want to push him anymore tonight. Not about that. "You want some cake?"

"You want to tell me what's going on with you and Saul?" he asked gently.

"I'd rather have cake," Rusty told him lightly, after a pause and he might as well have said in so many words 'I am _neve_r going to tell you'.

Danny hadn't wanted to resort to this. But he thought maybe he had to. "Saul was asking," he said quietly. "He wanted to know if you were upset with him."

Rusty's eyes were wide and horrified. "I'm _not – _"

" – I know," Danny cut in quickly. "I told him so. But you're hurting him, Rusty."

"I'm trying _not_ to hurt him," Rusty said with soft desperation.

Danny reached across the table, his hand hovering inches from Rusty's. "Tell me,"

For a moment, he thought that it wasn't enough, that Rusty was going to shut himself off, was going to keep this secret. Then Rusty sighed and looked at him unhappily. "You remember...?" He shut his eyes tightly for a second. "Stupid question. You remember. The nightmare I had seven weeks ago."

There had been so many nightmares. But Danny knew the one Rusty was talking about. The one when Rusty had tried to kill him, and he felt a shiver run down his spine just at the _thought _of it. He was going to remember the way Rusty had looked at him till his dying day.

He licked his lips. "Wha'...what..." He hadn't asked. He never asked. Sometimes Rusty told him, but he never asked.

"Was just Him at first," Rusty said distantly, standing up from the table and walking over to the window. "He was in the hotel room. Said a couple of things, did a couple of things," He shrugged uncaringly. "That part doesn't matter so much. And then He told me that I was only good for one thing and everyone knew that, and then most of the guys from the Benedict job...Reuben and Bash and Frank and everyone." He stopped for a moment and Danny couldn't bear the silence and the pictures were in his mind and he couldn't even begin to speak. "And Saul was there..." Rusty went on, the words falling out of him and Danny _knew _he was reliving every word. "And he _said..._and I _begged _him...and he held me down and – "

" – Saul would _never,_" Danny interrupted tightly, and just the thought made him feel sick inside, just the thought that Rusty could ever think. And he remembered hearing Rusty beg. Remembered the frightened and the hopeless and the desperate and Rusty had been talking to Saul and it _hurt._ "Saul would never."

"You think I don't _know _that?" Rusty demanded, turning round to face him and there were tears rolling down his face. "I _know _Saul would never. God, Danny."

"You're not scared of Saul," Danny said slowly.

"_No,_" Rusty insisted vehemently. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again the misery was vast and uncontainable. "But everything you're thinking right now? Everything you're feeling? _Imagine how Saul would feel if he knew."_

There was a long silence and Danny could imagine how Saul would feel, could imagine the look on Saul's face exactly and he _knew _how difficult it was to hide from Saul.

Still. "You can't avoid him forever, Rus'," he pointed out gently.

"I want the memory to fade first," Rusty said quietly.

And Danny wished that would work. But this was Rusty's memory they were talking about and it just didn't work that way and he knew all that Rusty really wanted was to stay as far away as possible. And he knew that Rusty knew that. "It'll get better if you – _we _ - spend time with him," he suggested.

Rusty nodded. "But he'll – "

" – we're talking about Saul, Rus'," he interrupted firmly. "He'll understand. You don't need to tell him anything and he won't ask and he'll _understand._"

Rusty looked down at his hands for a long moment, his fingers twisting nervously together. "You ever think that maybe some things are a step too far? Maybe some things are...unforgiveable."

They weren't talking about the nightmare anymore. Weren't talking about the horror that Rusty's subconscious had dreamt up. And Danny had been with Rusty every day to offer reassurance, to remind Rusty exactly how he felt. Saul hadn't had that opportunity.

There was a part of him that wanted to ask. A part of him that wanted to know exactly what Rusty had...exactly what had been done _to_ Rusty that Rusty thought he couldn't be forgiven for. The cold, hard, merciless part of him that wanted to know names and places and details so that it could see justice done.

He couldn't ask. Not now.

He stood up and crossed the room, standing right in front of Rusty, close enough to touch, and he was relieved to see that Rusty was nowhere close to losing control. "You want to point out exactly what, in all this, was even close to being your fault?" he asked mildly.

Rusty smiled ever so slightly. "It's not my fault?"

"Right," he agreed.

Sighing, Rusty leaned forwards and his head was on Danny's shoulder his hands tight against Danny's chest. "You ever think of writing a self-help book?" he asked.

He laughed. "Not sure anyone else would get it," he pointed out.

Rusty nodded. "They'd need to have you," he agreed and he leaned in a little closer. "I'm _lucky." _ His voice was light but wrapped up in that was all the 'Thank you' and 'I need you' and 'I wouldn't have survived without you' in the world.

Danny held him tightly. "So – "

" – we'll go see Saul," Rusty said definitely.

"Good," Danny smiled, relieved. "So. You said something about cake?"

Rusty lifted his head and grinned at him. "Coffee cake," he agreed. "And I bought enough candles to celebrate the fact that you're old."

Oh, that was...He sulked. "Just for that you're not getting any."

"Like you'd ever stick to that," Rusty said, shaking his head.

Danny sighed. Rusty was right. He wouldn't.

* * *

**A/N: Next part decidedly soonish!**


	11. Two months after Part 2

**A/N: This may look like chapter eleven. But in reality, it's chapter seven part 2. And there will be a third part of chapter seven. Just to keep you all up to date with my own.._unique _numbering system**

* * *

It was warm in Florida. Warm and pouring with rain. Not really the sort of weather that Danny enjoyed and it didn't show any sign of stopping anytime soon.

"I'll buy you an umbrella," Rusty murmured as they stepped out of the airport and took temporary shelter under a bunch of fake palm trees.

"It's supposed to be nicer here," Danny pointed out sullenly. "Because we're closer to...something."

"The equator?" Rusty suggested mildly.

Danny shrugged. "That or Disneyworld." He glanced round disconsolately. "We're gonna need a car. Hire place?"

Rusty grimaced. "I hate driving hire cars. You never know _what _people have been doing to them."

Yeah. He'd heard that lecture before. "Well, we're going to be here too long to just 'borrow' one," he pointed out.

"So we buy one," Rusty said practically. "What else is money for? Besides, I've been meaning to buy a hundred thousand dollar sports car in Newport beach for two months now. This is close enough."

Danny grinned. "Hundred thousand dollars...?"

"I'm willing to compromise," Rusty told him seriously. "Little bit, anyway."

Not in Danny's experience. He studied Rusty carefully and the grin faded. "You sure you're ready for this?"

Rusty shot him a bright, amused, terrified look. "I think I can handle it."

"If you need to, we can stay somewhere else." Danny reminded him. "Give it a few days. Saul – "

" – is already thinking the worst," Rusty interrupted. "You said so. I don't...I _don't _want to hurt him anymore than I already have. Besides. It's a stupid reason to avoid him. We both know that."

Danny continued looking and he could see all the layers of dread and anxiety that Rusty was struggling to contain, but he could also see the stubborn, obstinate determination. He wasn't going to win the argument. Especially when he wasn't sure he should.

He smiled and nodded reassuringly. He'd back Rusty up no matter what.

"Alright then." Rusty looked round thoughtfully. "If you were a car dealership, where would you be?"

"That way," Danny said, pointing decidedly. "Definitely that way."

With a deep and unhappy sigh, he followed Rusty out into the rain.

* * *

Rusty pulled the car up outside Saul's house and turned the engine off. For a second, he sat staring at the dashboard. Whatever he'd said to Danny, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this. There was a little voice in his head, which he was doing his very best to ignore, that was telling him that he was going to walk through the door and Saul was going to _know – _somehow just know – what Rusty had dreamt and he was going to be horrified and disgusted. And he ignored those whispers, or tried to, and the voice reminded him Saul had seen those pictures of him, that Saul knew he was weak, that Saul knew he hadn't fought enough, that Saul might think he'd let them, that Saul might think he'd wanted it.

Saul hadn't judged him for that, he reminded himself, firmly and not for the first time. No more than Danny had.

"He'll never think any less of you," Danny said beside him, like he had done before. "You know that."

He knew that. He _knew _that. And he took a moment to fix in his mind the memory of Saul's smile the last time he'd seen him. Saul's smile. The weight of Saul's arms around him. The love and pride in Saul's eyes.

Saul would never think any less of him.

He glanced sideways at Danny and nodded. "Let's go in."

* * *

Saul had been waiting anxiously to see them since the phone call at nine o'clock that morning. Actually, Saul had been waiting anxiously for a lot longer than that. Two months longer than that. Four years longer than that. Wasn't like the anxiety faded.

He'd regretted everything he'd said to Danny last night practically the moment he'd said it. After all, he _knew _what the plan had been – as much as there had been a plan. Rusty was with Danny and that meant that he was safe and that meant he could heal. And for the most part they'd been keeping in touch with him, and even if Rusty's phonecalls had been growing more distant and more awkward, both the boys assured him that Rusty was doing fine, so he shouldn't worry, right?

Right.

It was early evening when they arrived and even as he was opening the door, greeting them warmly, inwardly rejoicing at the fact that they were _here _and _safe_, he was studying Rusty carefully, looking for changes, for injuries, for who-knew-what.

There was nothing. And there was everything.

Rusty looked a lot healthier than the last time he'd seen him. Saul would guess that his weight was almost back to normal – certainly he didn't look painfully thin anymore – and more than that, so much of the pain and the tension he'd got used to seeing in Rusty's eyes had faded. Rusty looked a lot closer to whole and Saul felt like his heart would burst with joy and relief.

Still, there was something awkward in the way Rusty smiled at him, and Saul didn't know what it was, what was causing it, but he hated it. He knew that there was a problem; Danny had even said as much. He also knew that they didn't want him to know what it was. He thought – he hoped – he could respect that decision.

"Sorry to drop in on you like this Saul," Rusty said, the apology clear in his voice.

"It's fine," Saul told him firmly and immediately. "You're always welcome here."

"It's a great house," Danny joined in, looking round. "How long have you had your eye on it?"

"Not as long as you'd think," Saul replied evasively. It _was _a great house. He'd known exactly what he was looking for and he'd recognised it the instant he saw it. "Why don't you take your things upstairs?"

"Sure," Rusty grinned and shook his head. "Place this size, you must have enough spare rooms, right?"

Saul smiled. "Right. You're first on the left as you go up the stairs. Danny, you're next door."

The smile faded the moment they'd vanished up the stairs. Spare rooms. Right. He hoped he'd done the right thing. He knew they'd been moving round a lot the last couple of months, knew they didn't have anywhere permanent. Maybe he'd been presumptuous.

God, he hoped he'd done the right thing.

* * *

The room was comfortable and cosy. Cheerfully decorated. Rusty glanced around at the drapes gently moving in the breeze, the soft blue bedspread, the TV and DVD player and he smiled helplessly. Everything about the room screamed not-a-spare-room. Everything about the room spoke of thought and care and attention to detail. On a hunch, he stepped through into the ensuite bathroom. Yup. Toothbrush, toothpaste, shower gel, shampoo - all the toiletries he'd need. All the brands he favoured. Still smiling - smiling even more - he stepped back into the bedroom and investigated the drawers and wardrobe. A few changes of clothing. All things he'd wear. Mostly the right sizes, couple of things that would be too small now, at least since Stan's diet plan. And in the drawer beneath the TV he found a selection of their favourite movies.

He glanced at the other door in the room and stepped through without knocking. (Adjoining doors - really, every detail perfect.) The room next door was just as comfortable and made him think of Danny. Not just because Danny was standing in the middle of the floor, wearing a similar smile.

He looked over at Rusty. "You ever wonder what in the world we did to deserve Saul?"

Rusty smiled wonderingly and shook his head. "Frequently."

There was something in Danny's eyes – Danny seemed to like the way he was smiling. "How you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Rusty said immediately and grinned at the look on Danny's face. "No, _fine _fine. Really." He paused for a few moments. "We should've done this before. You were right and I'm an idiot."

Danny nodded. "Well that's nothing new."

He smiled again, briefly, and looked at Danny thoughtfully. "You thought anymore about – "

" – maybe," Danny said with a sigh, glancing towards the window. "Maybe."

Well. That was new. Last time it had been a definite no. He told himself he was happy that Danny was thinking about it.

* * *

Back downstairs and Saul was watching them with well-hidden anxiety, waiting for their reaction.

Rusty's smile felt bright enough to light up the sky, full of joy and wonder and thanks and love, and Saul's answering smile was every bit as bright.

"Thank you," he started to say, but Saul held up his hand.

"You're _always _welcome here," he said again. "You always have a place here." His gaze took in Danny as well. "Both of you. Remember that."

He thought they would.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Wonderfully. Both.

They weren't doing much – just sat around the kitchen table, eating pizza, talking about old times, and the stories and the laughter flowed thick and fast.

Wonderful. Quite simply wonderful and Rusty watched Danny and Saul, both with him, both safe and happy, both caring about him, and he couldn't imagine a better evening.

Even if a couple of the stories were maybe a little edited.

Even if Saul had given him a long and troubled look when he refused both beer and whisky.

Even if, once or twice – after Saul had leaned in too close to clear the plate at his elbow, or when he reached out and patted him on the arm when Danny was describing Howard Blake's moat – he had felt his heart racing, just a little, felt his hands start to shake, saw the images from his dream in his head, just for a moment.

Even if he knew that Danny was seriously considering going to Tess, and Rusty had no idea what would happen after that.

Even with all of that, he was happy.

That night they didn't mention Roland Vickers once.

* * *

Next few days were all about information gathering. They had to find out what had changed in the past five years – precious little, it turned out – and they had to get as clear a view of the house as possible.

Some kind of a walking tour of the local sights gave Rusty an in to the neighbourhood, and he managed to snap a surprising number of pictures of the sidewalk and even more of Roland Vickers house.

Danny scoped out the country club and, with a quick and easy break-in late at night, made sure that Darius Mitchum would appear to have been a member for the past three years.

Saul looked at the blueprints and the photographs and listened to the plan and smiled and started work on finding the right voice for Edward Franks.

Identities and histories and companies all had to be created before they were anywhere and Rusty spent an afternoon on the phone to Livingston, after he'd spent the morning connecting up the computer in Saul's living room.

"Why did you buy it in the first place?" Danny asked Saul curiously, as they sat and watched Rusty work. They had both _offered _to help. It was difficult to say which offer had been met with more incredulity.

"It's good to move with the times," Saul told him.

Of course by the time the preliminaries were set up, Gareth Roth had chosen to go out of town for the week, leaving them with no way to get started. They needed to hit them both at once, or Roland would never bite.

There had been no issues over the past week. Rusty seemed as relaxed around Saul as he should be, there'd been no extra nightmares, no flashbacks, no cause for worry.

Rusty was enjoying himself. Rusty was happy.

And that seemed to make it a perfect time for Danny to go see Tess.

* * *

She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful.

She stood in the doorway and for a moment he thought she was reconsidering whether or not she really wanted to let him in. Oh, she'd known he was coming, they'd discussed it, but still. He thought she was reconsidering.

When they'd met in Vegas, they'd ended up in bed together. And that had not been the greatest idea that either of them ever had, and Danny figured that they were both keen to avoid a repetition. But equally, he figured that this wasn't going to be the sort of discussion they wanted to risk having in public.

"It's a nice place," he said, as she eventually stood back and let him inside. It was. Chic and artsy, all sanded floorboards and warm colours, understated artwork on the walls and a half empty box of maltesers left absent-mindedly by the TV. It was all very her and Danny felt a pang of regret, deep inside.

"Thank you," she said, smiling awkwardly. "Have a seat. You want a coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," he agreed. Coffee. Not a drink. Probably the right idea.

He waited until they were sitting opposite each other, clutching mugs of coffee. Something to do with their hands. "So how are you?" he asked brightly.

"Good," she said immediately. "I've been good. How are you?"

"Oh, fine," he nodded, taking a sip of coffee.

She stared at him for a long moment then burst out talking. "Danny, what _happened _in Vegas? Is it really all settled? That..._man_...was blackmailing you! And he had those photos!"

Danny sighed. "The photos were faked, Tess," he said, and he looked her straight in the eye, broadcasting truth and sincerity. The photos were faked. He would _never. _Not in a million years.

She looked down at her coffee momentarily. "I believe you," she said quietly. "But is it really over?"

"Yeah," he nodded. It was. "Carson's in jail. Good guys won, bad guys lost – "

" – and Terry gets to keep his money?" she interrupted sardonically.

He paused. "Terry's not exactly on the side of the angels, Tess."

"He's not a thief," she argued immediately.

Danny thought, for a moment, about some of Terry's less reputable business practices. About lives ruined and little rooms that didn't have cameras. "That really depends on how we're defining that."

"Danny, we need to move on," she said with obvious patience.

Yeah. Not like that. "There are people out there you can date and I'd never say a word. Not Terry Benedict."

She looked amused. "Are you looking for the right to veto my boyfriends?"

He smiled. "Do you want the truthful answer to that or the tactful answer?"

"Danny..." she sighed.

"I want you to be happy, Tess. That's all." Happy and safe.

She looked down at her coffee cup again. "Are you...are you happy, Danny?"

"Sometimes," he allowed. "More and more." There was happiness and there was terror and day by day it seemed there was more of the one and less of the other.

"And Rusty...you and Rusty...are you..." She floundered.

"Yes," he agreed. "Like we were before – "

" – me," she cut in bitterly.

"That wasn't what I was going to say," he told her urgently, because he didn't want her thinking like that, not for a second. "Tess, I don't regret a moment we were together. You know that, right?"

She watched him for a long moment. Then she smiled slightly. "Oh, _Danny..." _she whispered, and he really did miss her.

"Like we were before four years ago," he said softly. "It's better."

"I never meant it to happen, Danny," she told him earnestly. "I just didn't want you to go to prison. And Rusty said...and I didn't have to do anything. I just let it happen, and you were _safe _but you were hurting so much, and you wouldn't talk to me, and I thought if you knew I'd been part of it ... I _couldn't_ tell you, I just couldn't."

"I know," he said quietly, and it still hurt, it still hurt so much. "I just wish you'd said _something._"

"Would it...would it have made a difference?" she asked hesitantly.

He thought of the three years that had been a slow, suffocating death. And as much as he loved Tess, she hadn't been able to reach him, hadn't been able to help, hadn't been able to share in the pain. He'd never been surprised that Tess hadn't been able to take it anymore.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

She bit her lip and he could see the regret but neither of them were exactly the same people as they had been and he didn't think that things would ever be the same.

"How is Rusty?" The question was quiet and awkward.

His face was blank. "Better."

"When I saw him in Vegas..." she trailed off, looking like she didn't know what she wanted to say. "When I saw him, he seemed..." She bit her lip. "And when he left with that _man_... " She shuddered and he wondered exactly what she thought she'd seen. "And then with you in the hotel room, he was - "

" - He's doing better," Danny said again and this time it was softer and he let her hear truth because the worry was genuine. She'd never wanted Rusty hurt. Not for a moment. "He's going to be fine."

"And you're with him," she stated with a sigh. "You look...more yourself."

He _felt_ more himself. He smiled and let the moment pass.

When she looked up at him there were tears in her eyes. "I'm _sorry, _Danny. I'm so, so sorry."

"Hey. It wasn't your fault," he told her softly, and he meant it. "'s'okay, Tess. Really it is."

"I miss you," she said and her voice trembled.

She missed him.

And he thought maybe she loved him.

But she didn't need him.

"I miss you too, Tess," he said gently, but it wasn't an invitation to anything more and after a second she sighed and smiled bravely.

"It is good to see you again," she said. "I want to stay in touch this time around. People at work say I'm crazy, but I want to stay friends."

"I'd like that," he said simply, and he changed the subject. "You're working at that gallery on 11th Avenue now? What's it like?" He remembered the gallery. Tess had always liked it. They'd gone there, sometimes, just to browse and one time he'd bought her a little oil sketch for her birthday. He glanced sideways; it was hanging by the door.

She smiled a different kind of smile and started to tell him. Stories and people and paintings, and she was happy there, he could tell. A job she liked, people she liked. And he couldn't help but notice that she mentioned one of her regular customers, Simon Delaney, a few more times than he might have expected.

He smiled to himself. She'd move on, and he told himself it didn't hurt.

They carried on talking long into the night and when he left, he felt like maybe it was finally over.

* * *

The day went slowly without Danny. Rusty did his best to keep himself busy. Trouble was, the con was on hiatus and there just wasn't much to do. Busy work. Doing things he didn't need to do yet. Doing things he didn't need to do at all. Doing things _again _and he raised his voice when Saul quietly suggested that he didn't need to redraw the plans for the country club.

"It wasn't perfect! I..._it_ needs to be perfect!" He stared at Saul breathing hard, and it _needed _to be perfect. Anything less than perfection and things could go wrong and Danny could leave.

Saul watched him carefully for a few moments then he nodded slowly and walked out of the room.

Free from distractions, he turned his attention back to the plans, and they might look identical, but that didn't mean he couldn't do a better job.

A noise, and he looked up and Saul walked back into the room, carefully carrying what looked like two banana milkshakes and a deck of cards. He sat down at the table opposite Rusty and calmly started dealing.

Rusty ignored him. Kept his head down. He had to get this right.

Five minutes passed. The cards fell one by one and he was watching out of the corner of his eye and he'd never _seen _this one before.

"It's called the Griffin Over Pass," Saul commented to no one in particular. "LeMarc showed me a few years back. I swapped him the trick to the Triple Riffle for it. I always meant to show you..." He was looking at Rusty now and Rusty almost wanted to hide from the weight of the gaze. "Let me show you."

He found himself nodding. "I'd like that. Please."

Saul smiled and pushed one of the glasses of milkshake closer to him. Then he went through the trick slowly and Rusty watched and learned what Saul wanted him to know.

The redrawn plans got pushed aside. Forgotten.

* * *

The rest of the day passed quicker. Saul kept him distracted. Kept him from thinking too much. Kept him together, in the moment.

At night though, he was alone with nothing but his thoughts and he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and tried to convince himself that everything was going to be alright.

It was stupid to miss Danny. After all, Danny had been gone for less than a day. Even since they'd been back together, they'd been apart for longer than this.

Except today he wasn't sure when Danny would be back. Today he wasn't sure that Danny would _want _to come back.

Danny was going to see Tess, like he wanted, and Rusty was happy for him. And of course he wouldn't blame Danny if Danny wanted to stay for an extra day or so. (_Or even an extra forever._)

_No. _Danny was going to come back for him. Danny had told him he didn't have anything more real. Danny loved him and Danny was going to come back.

Except, Tess represented a whole other life for Danny. A whole other life that didn't involve sleepless nights and constant nightmares and talking someone down from the edge. A life that wasn't all about fear and disease and shame.

Danny didn't see it that way. Danny didn't see him that way. Danny was coming back to him.

Of course, the timing was kinda convenient. Rusty at Saul's, safe and secure, and Danny went off to see Tess. If he _was _leaving – which he wasn't – then it wasn't like he was just abandoning Rusty. He knew Rusty wouldn't be alone.

And that was _still _nonsense. Danny would be back. Hell, he had _proof _of that, more than Danny's word even. Danny had only left him with three pills. Lunchtime, night and morning. Three doses of antibiotics, and that meant that Danny was going to be back in time to make sure he took the fourth. Danny was taking that really seriously.

Danny was going to come back.

Danny had _meant_ to come back, at least.

Danny might change his mind.

* * *

"_The guards have been talking to the doctor about you," Moffatt told him seriously and he kept his face blank and pretended it didn't hurt. "A couple of them think you're not eating."_

_He wasn't. He couldn't bear the thought of it. Moffatt had grabbed him twice more since that first time. Moffatt and a few other people. And every time they'd made him...he couldn't forget the taste of it. Felding had never made him do that. His mouth just wasn't what Felding was interested in. _

_He couldn't forget the taste of it. And that was all he could taste._

"_They're going to take you in for investigation," Moffatt added. "We don't want that, now, do we?"_

_He shuddered. They didn't. The doctor – the new one, the one that looked at him like he was the lowest of the low – would want to study every inch of him, and just because Moffatt didn't hurt him like Felding had didn't mean that there weren't signs. They would _know _and he couldn't bear that again. _

"_That's what I thought," Moffatt smiled. "So I got to thinking and I'm going to take care of you, since you can't take care of yourself." _

_Glancing up and he was trying to keep his expression indifferent, he was, but he saw what Moffatt was holding and he only just managed to keep the whimper inside._

"_Sugar and fat," Moffatt said happily as he mixed the hot chocolate powder and cooking oil together. "That's what you need. And I've got a few men waiting to feed it to you. After all, there's only one thing that you want to put in that pretty mouth of yours, isn't that right? This way you get what you want _and _what you need. Don't say I'm not good to you." _

_Later, and his face and mouth were smeared with grease and chocolate and come and his throat was sore and coated, and he could feel the oil trickling off his chin, and his eyes were aching with the effort of not crying and all he could do was glare at Moffatt and wish he was dead. _

"_Let's try and avoid having to do this again, huh?" Moffatt said fondly, stroking his hair. "I don't like other people taking an interest in you. You're mine. And I will take care of you. I'll _always _take care of you." _

_The scream was burning through him. _

"Rusty!"

Saul's voice. Saul's voice and Saul's hand on his shoulder, and he was awake in an instant, sitting bolt upright in bed and Saul was staring at him and for a moment the world faded away.

_(Saul on top of him, inside of him, holding him down by the shoulders, fucking him hard and enjoying it, looking him straight in the eyes and telling him with every eager thrust what a disappointment he was, what a failure he was, what a fuck up and it hurt, it hurt so much, and Saul caressed his cheek, a parody of affection)_

He gasped and shrank back, flinched away from Saul's hand, and the fear was showing in his eyes.

Saul stepped away immediately, holding up his hands. "Rusty, it's me," he said, his voice pained and shaking.

Right. Saul. RealSaul. RealSaul who would never, ever hurt him. Who would never think any the less of him. "Sorry," he muttered, cheeks burning.

"It's not your fault," Saul said firmly. "I heard...you were having a nightmare."

Fuck. He didn't want Saul to know that. Didn't want to be responsible for the pain Saul was feeling. "It was just a memory," he said quickly.

By the wild look that had crept into Saul's eyes that wasn't nearly as reassuring as he'd intended. But it was better when the dreams were memories. He'd lived through them already. He knew he could survive them. When things were different, when Felding found him in the outside world, when Danny was back in prison with him, watching Moffatt...that was so much worse.

He couldn't explain that to Saul though. He wouldn't know where to start. "I'm sorry," he said again, and he reached out and clutched Saul's hand for a second. "'s getting better, really," he promised. It was. The nightmares weren't every night anymore. Most nights, but not every night. That was an improvement. And normally Danny was there to wake him before they got too bad. (_He wished Danny was here. He hoped Danny came back._)

Saul sighed and reached out and stroked a hand through his hair and it felt like the comfort it should be. "You want to come downstairs and get some hot chocolate?"

His breath caught in his throat and for a moment the wrong taste was in his mouth.

Not what Saul meant. Not what Saul would ever mean.

"Sure," he agreed and Saul was watching him with narrowed eyes.

The kitchen and hot chocolate and he stirred in the marshmallows and watched them melt.

"Normally I'd offer you a shot of whisky in it," Saul said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed after a moment.

"Rusty?" Saul's voice was soft. "Should I be worried?"

He bit his lip. Oh, that was something he didn't want to talk to Saul about. That was something he didn't want to talk to _anyone _about. "Antibiotics," he said shortly. "Saw Stan. It's nothing...I mean, the course is nearly done. I'm fine, really."

Saul nodded unhappily. "You can talk to me about anything, Rusty. Anytime."

"I know, Saul," he said and he was smiling. The thought helped and the nightmare was fading away. He met Saul's eyes. Reached across the table and laid his hand on Saul's. "The nightmare...it was just stuff that happened inside. It happened and it's over. And I'm still here."

"Yes you are," Saul agreed fiercely.

There was silence for a few moments.

"You think...you think Danny will be back tomorrow?" Rusty asked suddenly, and he hated the hesitation and need in his voice.

For a second, Saul just stared blankly at him. "Yes," he said eventually, gently. "Danny will be back tomorrow. He told you he would be."

He studied his mug for a few minutes. "He might decide to stay."

Saul squeezed his hand carefully. "Danny will be back tomorrow," he said again and he could hear the absolute, unshakeable conviction in Saul's voice. "Why don't you phone him?"

He grinned. "It's two o'clock in the morning, Saul," he pointed out mildly. "Bad enough I woke you."

"Danny wouldn't mind anymore than I do," Saul said firmly and there was the certainty of love and it was warming and overwhelming.

"Nah, I'm okay," he said at last, and he was still smiling. "Thanks, Saul," he said, and he meant for so much more than this.

Smiling back, Saul looked him over surreptitiously. "I don't think I can get back to sleep right now," he lied smoothly. "Why don't we watch one of those movies you always say I need to see. The last time I checked there's quite a list."

He didn't have to be alone. "Thank you," he said again.

* * *

Danny hadn't been able to get a flight back that night. Seemed like everyone wanted to go to Florida. And that was _good _because it had meant he was able to talk to Tess for so much longer. And it was bad because it left him alone in the airport hotel room with nothing but his thoughts for company.

It was well after midnight when he lay on the uncomfortable bed, staring at his phone. It was too late to call. Really it was. Rusty slept badly enough as it was, Danny shouldn't risk waking him up. Besides. His phone had been on all day and he hadn't had any calls. And Saul would have phoned him the moment there was any trouble. Wasn't like Rusty didn't know where he was; Rusty had been fine with him going to see Tess. Even when they'd realised he'd be away overnight, he'd laughed at Danny's hesitation. Told him to go, to get on with it.

He was worrying over nothing.

Just that he wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

Being apart from Rusty hurt now in a way it never had before. So much more to worry about.

Not to mention, well, it was ridiculous, but he wasn't used to sleeping alone. Even at Saul's, adjoining rooms, and he'd _meant _to sleep in his own bed, it was just that somehow it had never happened.

He was alone and kind of lonely.

He took the photograph from his pocket. The only one he had. A bridge at sunset, the sky awash with brightly coloured balloons. Rusty smiling at him. Both of them happy and free.

He fell asleep holding it tightly.

* * *

_The Roland Vickers job had gone bad, maybe as bad as it could possibly get, and they'd barely had a trial before they were sent to prison._

_Somehow, he'd got separated from Rusty, and he'd been walking through grey corridors for days now, desperate and searching._

_He had to find Rusty. He'd promised he wouldn't leave Rusty, promised he wouldn't let Rusty be hurt again, and now he didn't know where Rusty was and it was driving him crazy._

_Locked doors, iron bars, concrete hallways. He searched and searched and searched and he never saw another soul. He was alone._

_He heard them though. In the distance. Mocking words and cruel laughter and he could never find them._

_Now and then, in the distance, he heard Rusty. Heard Rusty screaming._

_He ran through the corridors, desperately trying to follow the sound of the screams, even after they descended into soft, frightened, whimpers and finally trailed off into dark silence._

_He kept running until he couldn't run any further, and then he just ran some more._

_Grey corridors, iron bars, metal walkways. No daylight. No sunshine. No way out. Nothing could _live _here._

_Eventually, lost and uncertain, he slowed and tried to figure out which way to go, and he was wandering in circles through the prison, and time was passing, too much time was passing, hours and days and weeks and months, and nothing happened, nothing changed, and Rusty was lost._

_He stood on a grey landing, certain that he'd been here before, maybe just a few moments or hours before, and he thought he heard Rusty whisper his name._

"_Danny..."_

_A second later and he was sure of it. And he didn't know which direction it was coming from, but it was soft and plaintive, resigned and defeated._

"_Rusty!" he yelled back, as loud as he could. "Rusty, I'm here!" And it was 'Stay with me' and 'Don't give up!' and 'I'll find you!' and 'I love you' all at once._

_There was no answer._

"_Where are you?" he tried desperately._

_Nothing._

_A movement caught his eye and his blood turned to ice. The monster from his nightmare was standing on the walkway opposite him, a mug of coffee in its hand, smiling at him. The monster looked pleased. Satisfied. And as Danny watched, the monster grinned at him and raised the mug in salute, glancing back meaningfully over its shoulder, at the cell it had just come out of._

_Danny was running again. Running, and there were so many staircases, and he seemed to take so many wrong turns, and by the time he got across the way, the monster was nowhere in sight._

_Not that the monster was the one he was looking for._

_He stepped inside the dark cell and it smelled of blood and sex and death._

_The scream started to build up deep inside of him._

_Rusty was there. Right in the middle of the cell. Hanging from the ceiling._

_Danny looked up into his swollen face, and the rope was digging into his neck far too tightly, and his arms and legs were dangling helplessly, lifelessly._

_The scream threatened to escape, threatened to overwhelm him._

_And Rusty's eyes were wide open and staring and blank, and Rusty was looking at him. "You promised you wouldn't leave me, Danny," he said. "Look what happened," and Danny _was _looking and Rusty was dead and Danny didn't...couldn't..._

_The scream tore its way out of him, wild and uncontrollable._

"Rusty!" he came awake in an instant, sitting bolt upright, staring round himself in terror, and Rusty wasn't here, Rusty wasn't here and maybe that meant that Rusty was in a cell somewhere, Rusty had killed himself while Danny was nowhere around...

Rusty was with Saul. He remembered. Rusty was safe and with Saul.

He was shaking and his breathing was fast and ragged.

Rusty was _safe_. It had just been a nightmare. He grabbed the photograph from the side of the bed. Rusty was safe, Danny would be back with him by lunchtime tomorrow and there was no need for Danny to worry.

Rusty was fine.

Except...except suppose he wasn't? Suppose things had gone wrong while Danny had been gone? Suppose Rusty was hurt? Suppose Rusty was alone? Suppose the Roland Vickers thing had gone wrong, somehow, and Rusty was in prison?

He could still see Rusty in prison. Could still see Rusty defeated and dead. Could picture Rusty having _killed_ himself because Danny wasn't there.

The terror was irrational, but it was real, and he couldn't shake it.

He couldn't help himself. He grabbed his phone and hit speed dial one.

It only rang twice before Rusty answered, but it felt like a lifetime.

"Danny?" Rusty's voice. Sounding surprised and anxious, but alive. Unharmed. "You okay?"

He couldn't speak. Relief was coursing through him and there was a choked lump in his throat.

"Danny?" Rusty pressed again, and Danny tried to say something, really he did, but he just couldn't form the words. "Danny?" Rusty said and fear was creeping in quickly.

"You're alive," he managed to croak stupidly.

Rusty sighed, and Danny could hear the understanding dawn. "Oh, _Danny..._"

"Is everything okay?" Saul was asking anxiously in the background.

"Yeah," Rusty promised "I'm just going through to the other room, a minute."

There was the sound of footsteps and then Rusty was talking again. "Rough night?" he asked gently.

He shook his head, not willing to talk about it, but just having Rusty on the other end of the phone was making everything so much better. "It's three o'clock in the morning," he said, and he was wondering about Saul being awake, wondering about Rusty being awake.

"We were watching Annie Hall," Rusty said carefully.

Oh. And the simplest explanation was the most obvious. "Nightmare?" he checked, gently.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed. He sighed. "God, we're – "

" – no we're not," Danny cut in firmly. And maybe he felt it a little, not even being able to go a full day apart from Rusty without panicking, but if Rusty didn't get to say it, he couldn't say it. "How are you?"

"Fine," Rusty said at once. "Saul woke me. It wasn't that bad..." The silence stretched out for a couple of moments. "How's Tess?"

"She's doing okay," he said with a sigh. "We talked..." He shrugged. "We talked."

"Oh." Rusty's voice was quiet and this time the silence stretched even further. "Danny?"

"Yeah?" he asked, frowning, not liking the hesitation in Rusty's voice one little bit.

"Will you be back tomorrow?" Rusty asked in a rush.

"Rus'..." Danny sighed, and he hated the insecurity that was still alive in Rusty, hated that there was a part of Rusty that didn't understand _why _Danny was coming back for him, why Danny wanted that more than anything. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised. "I've got my ticket booked and I'm going to see you tomorrow." Nothing was more certain.

"You could stay with Tess if you want," Rusty began. "I wouldn't – "

" – I would," Danny insisted fiercely. "You think I call you at three o'clock in the morning because I want to spend my life with someone else?"

There was a long pause. "With that logic, I want to spend my life with over a dozen different pizza joints," Rusty said at last.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Danny said lightly.

He could _see _the way Rusty was shaking his head. Could see the look in Rusty's eyes. "You. Only you."

"Well, good," he said at last, and he was smiling, and the photo was still clutched in his hand.

"This the part where you tell me I need to stop doubting you?" Rusty asked.

He shook his head and it didn't matter that Rusty wasn't there to see. "This is the part where I tell you I'll see you tomorrow."

Rusty would see him tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. And at some point, somewhere along the line, Rusty would trust him to come back.


	12. Two months after Part 3

**A/N: Final part of this chapter! Look, seriously at some point sometime soon, the chapters are going to start getting shorter.**

**A/N2: Are _you _prepared for the forthcoming zombie apocalypse?  
**

* * *

Danny was back at Saul's by lunchtime the next day, surreptitiously passing Rusty his pill before grabbing a bacon sandwich and settling down at the kitchen table.

Rusty smiled at him and it was relief and apology for ever doubting and when Danny smiled back it was reassurance and concern and love and everything was so much brighter when they were together. The world was just a better place.

"So, we figured out when Gareth Roth is back yet?" Danny asked brightly, when the moment had gone on for just a little longer than it should.

* * *

Turned out Gareth Roth wasn't back for another two days. And that gave them plenty time to refine the plan. To make sure everything would work like a dream.

"We're going to need one more," Danny said slowly over coffee one morning. "You know that. The door needs opening and Roland will recognise me."

"I can't," Saul said gloomily. "It is a job for a younger man."

Rusty glanced up quickly. "I'd thought I could – "

Danny looked at him intently. " - Are you _sure_?" he asked, and it was obvious that Danny wasn't, it was obvious that Danny didn't like the plan.

Rusty frowned. Not like it was the most dangerous part of the whole thing. Far from it, actually if their information was correct – which it was – this would quite likely be one of the safest parts of the whole thing. And it was easy enough; just staying hidden in the same place for a few hours, not making a sound, not moving, not being able to get out...He bit his lip. And the plan had worked in his head, but now he was imagining how that was going to feel and he wasn't so very sure he could do it either.

"Hey." Danny was holding his hand suddenly. "Hey. It's okay, Rus'. We'll get there. Just not quite yet."

Saul cleared his throat quietly, just reminding them that he was there, that they weren't alone.

Neither of them moved. There didn't seem to be any real need.

Rusty took a deep breath. Smiled. "So who do you want to call?"

* * *

Sometimes Linus worried about Danny.

Oh, he knew that Danny wouldn't like it if he knew, he could picture the raised eyebrow, the pursed lips and the amused, dismissive smile, but it didn't make a difference.

It came down to one of the first things that Rusty had said to him. "_It's good that you have Danny's back like that." _

He'd never been Danny's partner, not really, but he was Danny's friend, and for the past year he'd always done his best to watch Danny's back.

And he'd like to think he was Rusty's friend too now, after all he liked Rusty a great deal, and he knew that Rusty would look after Danny if he could, and he thought of the parking lot with Carson, and Rusty putting himself between the guns. Rusty would do anything. He understood that.

Just that the way the Benedict job ended, he wasn't so sure that Rusty was capable of looking after himself, let alone Danny.

And the phonecall last month had done _nothing _to make him feel better. Danny had sounded frantic, in a carefully controlled way. And Lenny...well, _Linus _had felt like punching him. Even more afterwards. He had been worried about what Danny might have done.

Still, there was nothing he could do and whenever he called – and he called whenever he could think of a good excuse and from time to time when all he had was a lousy excuse – Danny seemed happy. Exhausted but happy. Happier than Linus had ever known him.

From time to time he wondered about that. Wondered about exactly what kind of relationship Danny _had _with Rusty. The way they smiled at each other, they way they'd clung to each other after Carson...no. No, he didn't _really _think so. Just that he had to wonder.

In the meantime, well, it wasn't like he wasn't incredibly busy. The thing in Denver with the Egyptian jewellery had gone like a dream and they'd all walked away even richer and happy to work together again whenever.

And there'd been a short thing in Rockford a few weeks ago and, okay, that hadn't gone _completely _according to plan, but he'd improvised and everything had worked out in the end.

He'd been proud of himself.

He was beginning to feel like someone whose call people would gladly take, not because of Dad or Mom, not even because of Danny, but because of _him. _It was a good feeling.

Even though, sometimes, he missed the sheer exhilaration of working with Danny.

And he'd been thinking of new plans, the past week, looking at the high class jewellery store next to the day spa, and it had seemed a perfect opportunity to set up a Lucky Stranger and he, or rather Tobias Cox, had been in and out of the spa so often that he'd actually earned himself a discount, and he'd been almost completely sure that he'd got the plans to the jewellery store down right, and the shift changes and staff movements had all seemed easy enough to predict. He'd had a year of working with Danny, and Danny had always told him that the details were important, and even if, sometimes, it seemed like Danny got lost in the bigger picture, the advice was good.

He was confident. He was ready.

Then Danny phoned.

"Hey, kid," Danny greeted him warmly. "You busy?"

He glanced at the plans on the desk. "That depends," he temporised. "What's up?"

"We've got this thing going in Florida," Danny explained. "Turns out we need a fourth man. I was hoping you might be interested?"

"Fourth?" he wondered, and the plans were right there, the jewellery store was waiting, and did he really want to abandon that?

"Saul's in too," Danny said. "It's right by his house. So you'd be staying here, if you're interested?"

Third behind Rusty and Saul. He thought he could live with that. Especially since he could hear the hope in Danny's voice. Danny wanted him there. "So what's the job?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"The take is lucrative," Danny said, the smile evident in his voice. "And the con is – "

" – impossible?" Linus suggested, with the slightest tinge of sarcasm. He'd heard that before. On days when Danny had been really enjoying himself

"Exactly." And now Danny was grinning, Linus just _knew _it. He never felt able to keep up with that grin. Didn't stop him trying.

That was enough. He figured that would always be enough.

"Count me in," he told Danny gleefully. "I'll call you when I've booked a ticket."

"Good," Danny said and he sounded genuinely delighted. "I'll pick you up at the airport, get you up to speed."

"See you then," Linus said as he hung up the phone.

He glanced at the plans for the jewellery store and his membership card for the spa. Oh, they'd still be there next week. Or whenever.

He grinned. Right now it was time to have fun.

* * *

When Linus stepped out of the airport, Rusty was there waiting for him, leaning against a brand new convertible and smiling broadly.

"Hey, Linus. Good to see you again."

"You too," Linus returned automatically and truthfully. It was. And Rusty looked a lot better than the last time Linus had seen him. A lot healthier. And that, apparently, led to the sort of dazzling good looks that made him wonder how he'd missed them before. "Where's Danny?" he asked, as they got in the car. "He said he was going to meet me...uh, not that that's a _problem,_" he added hastily. "Just that's it's a surprise. Um. A good surprise."

Rusty was grinning. "Like I said. Good to see you. And Danny would be here, but he got a call from Roland Vickers looking to have dinner, and passing seemed like a bad idea."

"Vickers is the mark?" Linus guessed.

"Uh huh," Rusty agreed. He glanced sideways at Linus. "So how's your hand?"

Linus flexed his fingers automatically. "Better," he told Rusty. "Much better. I don't even feel it anymore."

"Good." Rusty sounded relieved.

He cleared his throat uncertainly. Because he had to _ask, _he wanted to ask, but he wasn't exactly sure how. "How's your...how...how are you?"

Rusty's smile didn't falter. "I'm better. Thank you." There was an even, unflinching look in his eyes, and Linus knew that he hadn't welcomed the question, but it seemed like he hadn't been offended by it either. And that was good. But he was still looking at Linus, and Linus kind of wished he wouldn't do that while they were driving. "Hey, I heard about Rockford. And if my opinion counts for anything, you did good."

He felt himself smiling. "You really think so?" he asked anxiously. "I couldn't stick to the plan." He remembered in LA, with Lenny, and Rusty really hadn't struck him as someone who liked spontaneous improvisation.

"Sometimes plans have to be altered," Rusty told him. "Sometimes other things are more important," and Linus wondered if Rusty was thinking of the same occasion.

Then he frowned. "Hey, _how _did you hear?"

"Saul," Rusty said with a shrug. "And I think Reuben told him and Bobby told _him. _One thing you gotta know is that thieves gossip like barbers."

He blinked. "Oh."

Rusty smiled at him. "And yes. I really think so. _We _really think so."

He was trying to be his own man. He was taking great pride in being his own man. But the praise was always going to mean something, and the smile was broad and unstoppable. "Thanks," he said, and he meant it.

* * *

Linus looked through the plans that were spread out over the table with an increasing sense of incredulity. The phone in Rusty's pocket - Linus was almost certain that it wasn't Rusty's own phone - had rung the moment they'd stepped through the front door and Rusty had answered it immediately, dropping effortlessly into pleasantries in an upper class Boston accent, and stepping away from Linus.

Left alone, he hadn't been able to restrain his curiosity. Well, actually, he hadn't tried. The plans had just been there, and he was on this job now. Wasn't like they were secret. And the more he looked, well. Danny hadn't been kidding about the whole 'impossible' part.

"See anything good?" Rusty asked him from the doorway, sounding amused.

Linus turned automatically. "Have you _looked _at these?" he demanded and he flushed slightly at the grin that came his way. Right; he imagined Rusty had drawn them. "That was a rhetorical question," he muttered. "But seriously, this place is _impenetrable. _It's protected against thieves, fire, flood and the zombie apocalypse!"

"Oh, good," Danny commented easily from behind him, and Linus spun round quickly; he hadn't heard Danny come in, but there he was, and Saul was right behind him. "It's always good to be protected against the zombie apocalypse."

"You ever think that there's money to be made in selling zombie insurance?" Rusty mused.

Danny shook his head. "I hate insurance." He smiled warmly. "It's good to see you, Linus. How's your hand?"

"Fine," he said promptly and both Danny and Saul relaxed a little on hearing it.

Oh, he had a feeling that he was going to get tired of that question pretty quickly. Actually, he was already tired of it. After the Benedict job, Dad had been hovering over him all the way back home, and that was nothing to the way that Mom had looked. The look in her eyes...she'd done her best to control it, but for a while there, he'd thought that she never wanted to let him out of her sight again.

He sighed and smiled and did his best to look confident and self-assured and absolutely and indisputably grown-up. "So Roland Vickers? Who is he?"

It was like it was a sign, and they spread out around the room, Danny leaning against the kitchen counter, Rusty perching on the countertop beside him, while Linus sat at the kitchen table facing them. Saul passed out bottles of beer to him and Danny, and a glass of chocolate milk to Rusty who took it with a thankful smile. Huh. Linus wondered if maybe Rusty didn't drink, or didn't drink during a job. Looking back, he couldn't automatically think of a time during the Benedict job when he'd seen Rusty holding a drink. He supposed that wasn't a bad rule, really.

He stopped wondering as Saul took a seat beside him and Danny began to speak. "Roland Vickers is around sixty years old. He's extremely rich and extremely eccentric. He is a man of _very _set habits and routines, he lives alone and he only leaves his house three times a week when he visits the Gladewood country club for precisely three hours in the afternoon where, after a lunch of coq au vin and French onion soup, he sits in the private bar, drinks two brandies and reads the paper."

"So that's when we hit him, right?" Linus asked, understandingly.

Danny shook his head. "Before he leaves, he always alerts his private security contractors – "

" – Dennistoun and Borrs – " Rusty interjected.

" – and they have a three man team watching the house," Danny continued as if Rusty hadn't spoken. "We've checked into the security firm and there's nothing there we can use. If they're paid to protect a house, they're going to protect it."

"With lethal force," Saul added as an aside.

He blinked. "What does Vickers _do_?" he asked.

"He's retired," Danny answered.

And that really wasn't enough of an answer. "Retired from _what?" _he asked suspiciously.

Danny and Rusty exchanged a look. "Legitimate business," Danny said at last.

Right. "What _kind _of legitimate business?"

"The kind where we don't need to worry about him calling the cops on us," Rusty told him calmly.

"Because his private security firm will execute us first?" Linus said with a sigh.

"Exactly," Rusty said with a grin.

"Now," Danny went on, picking up the story. "One thing, Roland Vickers never, _ever _lets anyone into his house. For various, good reasons, he's worried that some of his former associates might come looking for him. You saw from the plans, there's precisely one entrance. No windows, no back door, nothing but that front door."

"The one that's made of reinforced bullet proof glass and is surrounded by three alarms and a state-of-the-art metal detector?" Linus checked.

"That's the one," Danny agreed calmly. "No one gets into his house without his express knowledge and permission – "

" – and he doesn't let anyone in," Rusty finished. "_Except – "_

"Right," Danny agreed. "Except for when someone is delivering a new piece for his collection. Which happens, oh, every eighteen months or so?"

"Nineteen months," Rusty corrected. "On average."

"His collection?" Linus questioned. He had a feeling that this part was going to be good news. "That's the target? What does he collect?"

Danny smiled. "Roland Vickers' main – "

" – probably only – " Rusty commented.

" – right," Danny nodded. "His only passion is American history. The Civil War era, to be exact."

Linus stole a quick look at Saul, just wondering how normal this double act _was. _Because yes, there'd been signs and more-than-signs during the Benedict job, but there'd been part of him that had assumed that it had to be at least a little put on. Saul didn't look like there was anything surprising going on. Must just be par for the course. Oh, that just wasn't normal.

"His house is full of paintings, antique furniture, memorabilia...all genuine. The entire ground floor is beyond price," Rusty said, and he smiled. "And that's what we're going to take."

Linus was lost. "What?"

"The entire ground floor," Danny and Rusty said simultaneously.

_Oh. _He swallowed hard. "How...how are we going to do that?"

"In one night," Danny said easily and it wasn't exactly an answer to the question Linus had asked. "Roland Vickers takes a heavy dose of sleeping pills every night, so there's no problem there. We're going to need tools to disable the internal alarm systems, open the safe and disconnect the metal detector, and we're going to get them past the metal detector in the first place by smuggling them inside a Civil War era chair that once belonged to General Terry that Roland Vickers is going to buy."

"And how are we going to make him do that?" Linus asked.

Rusty grinned. "Danny's been making friends."

* * *

_Roland Vickers had been annoyed and exasperated at first when the man had sat down in the armchair next to him. Though he had to concede, the club was unaccountably busy this afternoon, and there really didn't seem to be many other seats. Still, he was a man who valued his privacy, and he didn't welcome the intrusion. Though the other man seemed content to sit and read his book. Which was a biography of General Grant, he couldn't help but notice. Gratifying to see the younger generation taking an interest in their history. _

_An hour or so passed with no annoying attempts at conversation and then the man closed his book and stood up and left. Leaving his wallet on the floor beside his chair, Roland noticed after a moment. After a moment's hesitation, he picked it up and flicked it open. The man's name was Darius Mitchum, he noticed from his membership card. Perhaps he would hand the wallet in at the bar. Mitchum was bound to come back for it._

"_Excuse me," a voice said politely, and he looked up to see Darius Mitchum staring down at his wallet in Roland's hand._

_He felt an inexplicable moment of embarrassment at the look on Mitchum's face. "I was just going to hand this in at the bar," he found himself compelled to explain._

"_Of course," Mitchum agreed politely, holding out his hand._

_Hastily, Roland gave the wallet back and Darius was still standing there, and the silence was stretching on, and he felt compelled to say _something. _"I saw you were reading a book on General Grant," he commented at last. "Have you read McFeely's book? I find it's much more unbiased."_

_There was a flash of surprise in Mitchum's eyes, then he was smiling, warm and delighted. "I _have _read it, and yes, I agree with you. Far less hagiography. However impressive, General Grant was just a man. A remarkable man, unquestionably, but scarcely immune to criticism." _

_From there, it was all too easy to launch into his favourite subject with someone who listened and understood and agreed, and he had no objection when Mitchum offered to buy him a drink and even less objection when Mitchum suggested lunch on Thursday. _

"_I'm not in town for long though," Mitchum told him, with a hint of regret. "Just a few weeks. I'm just here for a funeral. Old friend of my father's. I live in the Caribbean most of the year, I figured I might as well get all my business back home sorted while I'm over."_

_He'd nodded, mildly disappointed that so enjoyable an acquaintanceship would be so short, but still, at least it meant that there would be no problem with keeping everything on his own terms. He couldn't trust anyone._

* * *

"So Danny's been meeting him regularly ever since," Rusty went on.

He nodded. He could see how that worked. "And you're just going to happen to mention about a Civil War era chair you know for sale?"

"House clearance," Danny said with a smile. "Old friend of the family's just died, his brother is selling everything off."

He glanced at Saul and Saul nodded, smiling at him, seemingly pleased that he was anticipating the details. "The house is all set up and dressed," Saul said in a voice that wasn't quite his own. "And Edward Franks is desperate for a quick sale and doesn't care what anything's worth."

"But how are we going to get him to buy the fake?" Linus wondered. "Actually, if he only ever goes to his own house and the Country Club, are we even sure we can persuade him to go to the sale at all?"

"We can't," Danny said immediately. "We're not even going to try. He has a man on retainer – "

" – Gareth Roth – " Rusty supplied.

" – who keeps an eye out for pieces for Vickers," Danny finished. "Vickers will send Roth and Roth will buy the chair."

"And the chair isn't a fake," Saul added. "Roth would be able to tell. We bought a genuine chair but it's been reupholstered extremely well and the upholstery contains everything needed."

"Klein did it," Rusty said, looking at him. "I'll give you his number after, you never know when he might come in handy."

"So we're selling him a genuine antique?" Linus just wanted to be clear on this point. "For less than it's worth?"

Danny shrugged. "We'll steal it back."

Okay. He decided to let that go. "So, wait, how do we know that this Roth will buy that chair?"

Danny grinned. "Rusty's been making some enemies."

* * *

_The auction had a few interesting pieces and Gareth Roth had a few clients who might just be interested. Worth investing, he thought. Certainly the ornate loveseat had a charm that he would be able to turn into hard cash._

"_Sentimental tat," a supercilious voice commented in an undertone behind him. "Fit only for those of a distinctly proletarian mindset." _

_He turned to see a blond man sneering condescendingly at the loveseat he was looking at. The man caught his eye and smirked at him knowingly. _

"_But I suppose there will always be those who like that sort of thing," the man commented to thin air. "Sad, really."_

_Raging at the insult_, _he couldn't think of anything to say as the man walked off._

_His temper wasn't exactly improved when, at the next auction he attended, the man outbid him on the deck of playing cards from Scott's first Antarctic expedition, watching him all the while, _smiling.

_Oh, he was going to find a way to wipe that smile off that smug, self-satisfied face if it was the last thing he did._

* * *

"Oh," Linus said, not thinking of anything else to say. "Yeah. That'll work."

"Hate is a great motivator," Saul decreed. "It makes people stupid."

He nodded. "So, I get how we get the stuff in. How are _we _getting in?"

Danny just looked at him. "You're going to open the door for us," he said, as if it was obvious.

Linus really didn't think it was.

* * *

"Oh, you're interested in artefacts from the Civil War, aren't you?" Mitchum asked him casually one afternoon, just as they were finishing their second brandy together.

"Yes," he nodded suspiciously. "Why?" He hoped that it wasn't a request to see his collection. He had lost valued acquaintances that way before. His house was secure and it was remaining that way. There were too many people who would enjoy seeing him dead.

"That friend of my father's, Alfred Franks, I believe I told you he died recently?"

Roland nodded, a little intrigued.

"His brother is having a house sale the day after tomorrow and, if my memory serves me right, there are one or two pieces that might interest you," Mitchum explained, sounding a little bored with the topic. "You should have a look in, if you have the time."

He certainly wouldn't be doing that. But it would probably be worth sending Gareth Roth. Yes, he rather thought he'd do that.

"Now, you were telling me about the correspondence of General Lafayette?" Mitchum asked, sounding far more animated.

* * *

Edward Franks had ushered him in anxiously and Gareth had hardly been through the door before Franks had been pointing at numerous objects of so-called-interest.

"Thank you," he said stiffly, "I prefer to make assessments for myself."

"I would have thought you would have appreciated the guided tour," a familiar, condescending voice said. "To save you from getting lost and mistaking garbage for antiques."

He turned furiously on the man who seemed determined to haunt him. "You! What are you doing here?"

The look that came his way was one of pure, undiluted amusement. "It's a public house clearance," the man murmured. "I'm here as a buyer. Though there's really no need to look round. I've already found the only interesting piece here." He turned and smiled at Franks. "That chair in the next room. I'll give you two hundred for it."

Franks looked interested and Gareth was objecting before he'd even thought about it. "I want a chance to look at it first," he snapped. "If it's any good, I'm prepared to beat any offer you care to make."

Franks eyes were alight with badly-concealed greed. "That seems fair," he agreed, and Gareth delighted in the look of frustration that flickered across the man's face.

The chair was good. More than good. A careful examination and he was absolutely certain it was genuine. Oh, it had been reupholstered, perhaps a hundred years or so ago, but the frame, the metal fixings, that was all real. Exactly the sort of thing that Roland Vickers was paying him a fortune to find. And snatching it away from his supercilious adversary, that was just icing on the cake.

"I will pay you a thousand for this piece," he told Franks, and he wasn't even close to a fraction of its real value.

"Twelve hundred," the man cut in, but he sounded worried and the disquiet was evident.

Gareth smiled to himself. Oh, with Roland Vickers cheque book behind him, he was confident of beating any price that the man cared to name. He was going to win. And he was going to delight in the defeat on the man's face when he did.

* * *

"The security guys do a drive past at four," Rusty commented as he pulled the van in to the side of the road, just a little before the turn to Roland Vicker's driveway. "After that, they won't be back for another two hours."

"So we wait," Linus nodded. Made sense. And he was pretty sure that Rusty had built the extra minutes into the plan, just to allow for any delays. Sort of thing he'd have to remember for the future.

"You know what I don't get?" Rusty said, after a few moments had passed.

"What?" Linus asked, when it was obvious that Danny, stretched out in the back of the van and possibly just ever-so-slightly sulking that he wasn't getting to ride shotgun, wasn't about to say anything.

"Why hole up in a mall?" Rusty went on, frowning.

Linus blinked and he couldn't think of anything to say. _What _were they talking about?

"Well, there's a whole lot of supplies there," Danny pointed out, in a way that suggested that he had no trouble following the conversation.

"Yeah, but that's short term," Rusty argued. "The point about an apocalypse is it's sort of a long term deal. If you survive, that is. Sooner or later, you're going to need to go out and look for more supplies. Find other survivors. Move on, rebuild, all that stuff. Malls tend to be in the middle of nowhere, relatively speaking. There's not enough higher ground, too many entrances...it's a bad plan."

Danny leaned forwards so his arm was resting on the back of Linus' seat. "So what's your plan for surviving the zombie apocalypse?" he asked with interest.

"Take over the top floor of some building," Rusty said immediately. "Some hotel or something. Make sure your floor is clear, then blow up the staircases. Make them completely impassable."

"Then you're trapping yourself, aren't you?" Linus asked uncertainly, and he wasn't quite sure why he was even participating in this conversation.

Rusty shook his head. "You make sure you're in the tallest place around, then you attach several zip lines to the surrounding buildings. You ever see a zombie trying to haul itself along a rope? It's not gonna happen.

"Oh, that's your solution to everything," Linus muttered.

"Then you can get out that way," Rusty said, grinning slightly at him.

"And you can see across to make sure the way is clear so you can pick the zombies off one by one before you go across," Danny said, sounding like he was working it through in his head.

"Exactly," Rusty agreed. "Send out regular patrols to pick up food –

" - start colonising the neighbouring buildings," Danny went on, "Clearing them out – "

" - one at a time...seriously it would work much better than a mall."

"You're both freaks," Linus said with feeling.

Rusty grinned. "'s good to plan ahead. Speaking of which, that's time."

Danny sat back. "Let's go."

They drove the van right up to Roland Vicker's front door. Which really did look intimidating.

"Okay." Rusty smiled at Danny as he and Linus got out the van. "Stay out of sight."

"Don't drop the chair, " Danny told him gravely and Linus rolled his eyes.

* * *

As soon as he'd pressed the doorbell, Rusty was slouching against the railings on the porch, concentrating on looking as bored as was humanly possible. Beside him Linus was looking at the clipboard with an expression of dull disinterest. Perfect. He really doubted even Roland Vickers would think they looked suspicious right now.

The intercom buzzed beside him and Roland Vickers' voice rang out. "Yes?"

"Delivery for Mr. Vickers?" he called. "Got a chair here. From a party name of Franks."

"Do you have the paperwork?" Vickers asked, sounding suspicious.

"Yessir, got it right here, sir," Rusty answered promptly. Shipping orders, all legitimate, all signed by Gareth Roth. Saul had got the man to sign so many things he'd never suspect a thing.

"Hold it up to the camera," Vickers instructed.

Not quite suppressing an exasperated sigh, Rusty did so, making sure Roth's signature was clearly visible.

There was a long pause. Then, they saw Roland Vickers through the glass door, coming towards them. "Hold the paperwork up to the door," he told them.

Rusty complied.

"Okay," Vickers said after a very long moment and he keyed the combination in. A second after that and the door opened.

* * *

"_There's a single code to disable the alarms," Danny had explained. "Twelve characters, letters and numbers. Vickers is the only one who knows the combination and he's never written it down and he'd never tell another living soul."_

_Linus' eyes had widened. "Then how can we get it?" _

* * *

"We just need to get a few signatures from you, sir," Linus said cheerfully, stepping forwards. "If you could just sign here, here, here and _here..._oh, and overleaf. Right. And initial here? Thank you."

"Now, we'll just bring the chair in for you," Rusty added, turning back towards the van. "If that's alright with you sir?"

"Yes, yes," Vickers said, sounding distracted. "Let me just make a quick call first."

To his security people, Rusty knew, but he kept himself looking puzzled. He wasn't supposed to know that the metal detector would go off and trigger an automatic alert. Nothing was supposed to go in or out of this house, after all.

"As you like, sir," he agreed doubtfully.

Vickers made the call and moments later, he and Linus were carrying the armchair inside. He kept his glance casual, but he was pleased to see that he'd pretty much constructed the interior of the house perfectly from the blueprints and photographs. A relief. They would have been in trouble if he'd somehow got things wrong. And all the tiny new details would make things easier tonight.

Just as they'd planned, they carried the chair through to the front room, and the moment they set it down, Rusty's hand was in his pocket, pressing send on his phone, triggering the text to Danny.

"Well, that's us sir," he told Vickers cheerfully. "We'll get out of your hair now."

There was a ringing from the study next door and Vickers half-turned.

"Come on, Ken," Rusty said to Linus, and they both started heading to the door.

Vickers stepped into the study, the door half open, and a second later they heard his voice. "Oh, Darius, it's good to hear from you."

Rusty nodded at Linus, and they sprinted silently for the far wall, and hit the tiny button concealed in the side of the bookcase. The hidden door swung open and revealed a tiny, featureless room, barely large enough for a person to stretch out comfortably.

* * *

"_So Vickers has a panic room?" Linus checked._

"_Yep," Danny agreed. "And not even the security firm know about it."_

"_So how do you?" Linus wondered._

_Rusty shrugged. "We got talking to his architect eight years ago." _

"_And how long do I have to stay in there?" Linus asked._

_Danny and Rusty exchanged a glance. "Six hours?"_

"_Six hours."_

* * *

"You sure you don't want a magazine?" Rusty murmured facetiously.

Linuspatted his pocket. "Brought a book," he said seriously.

Rusty choked back a laugh. Of course he had. "See you tonight."

"Don't be late," Linus said, only half-joking.

The moment the hidden door was closed and invisible again, Rusty was heading for the hallway and the front door, and quick as a flash, he'd moved the mirror by the staircase ever so slightly and he stuck the little piece of cellophane over the keypad by the front door and carefully – very, very carefully – peeled it off again. Then, hearing Vickers coming towards him, he headed out the front door and towards the van, stopping just short of it, bending down as if to tie his shoelace, facing the rearview mirror.

It reflected the new position of the mirror in the hallway just perfectly. And that reflected the keypad. And _that _showed Roland Vickers hand as he pressed in the code again, resetting the security system.

* * *

"_So how do I know the code to open the door?" Linus asked patiently._

"_We'll text you it," Danny explained_.

"_And how will _you _know it?" Linus asked with significantly less patience._

"_We take a copy of the fingerprints on the keypad," Danny said with a smile. "Then we use the mirror in the hallway to watch the pattern of Vickers' fingers as he enters the code. Then we just reconstruct it."_

_Linus stared. "Is that even humanly possible?" he asked eventually._

"_Probably not," Danny said with a smile. "That's why we have Rusty."_

* * *

Six hours in a small, empty room. Even with his book, Linus was bored. And he couldn't stop worrying about what would happen if it all went wrong.

He got the text two hours in, giving him the code.

Right. They were on.

Two minutes to ten o'clock, and Roland Vickers was habitually in bed and dead to the world by nine, and Danny stared at the door and waited patiently for Linus to appear.

He did, two minutes later, dead on time, and started pressing the buttons, staring between his phone and the keypad.

"You know that if I got that code wrong, the silent alarm will go off, the call will go out to Dennistoun and Boors, and five minutes later we'll all be shot through the head, right?" Rusty said quietly behind him.

Saul snorted. "You're always so good at inspirational speeches."

Danny didn't look round. "Good thing you didn't get it wrong then," he said, a couple of seconds before Linus grinned and the door opened. "Hi, kid."

"Let's get going," Linus urged them.

The chair first, and Rusty tore the stitching open carefully and removed all the tools he'd need to crack the safe and disable the metal detector.

Meanwhile, Danny, Linus and Saul, started carrying things through into the hall.

"You want to explain how you got out of the heavy lifting?" Danny hissed as he stacked a small trunk next to the door, ready to be taken out to the van, as soon as Rusty was finished with the metal detector.

Rusty grinned and held up a selection of wires. "You want to swap?" he invited.

* * *

It took four hours.

Linus looked round the absolutely empty rooms and grinned.

He'd been right. _This _was fun.

He hoped he got to work with Danny and Rusty again soon.

* * *

The sun was coming up. They'd got back from the meeting with Farraday, who'd been practically disbelieving that they'd managed to pull the thing off and had been more than confident that he'd be able to sell the lot over the next month or so.

He was a good guy. And, if Saul's suspicions were right, he owed Danny and Rusty a favour or two. As soon as he got money, they'd get money. Not that money was the point of any of this. It rarely was.

He looked round his living room. Linus had fallen asleep practically as soon as he'd sat down. He looked comfortable enough. They'd wake him and send him upstairs in a bit.

Rusty and Danny were sitting together on a sofa, sharing a packet of cookies and talking softly and intently about something. Saul didn't know what, but he could tell by the smiles it was nothing serious. They looked happy. Relaxed. He doubted either of them would sleep for the rest of the day. Immediately after a job...oh, they were still enjoying the buzz.

_He _wanted to sleep though. What came of not being anywhere near young anymore.

He watched the boys for a while longer, as he pretended to sip at his coffee. They seemed to be doing okay. Relaxed and happy wasn't just about today, wasn't just about Roland Vickers. Professionally, they were on top of their game, personally, they seemed to be healing, and Saul was more relieved than he could imagine. After the Benedict job, they'd all agreed Rusty was going to be okay and he'd wished it with all his heart. Now he believed it.

"This was my last job," he said quietly, and they looked up at him immediately. "Count me retired."

Danny didn't look surprised. Rusty didn't look _surprised, _as such, but he did look unhappy.

"Saul..." he began quietly, then he stopped and bit his lip. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Rusty," Danny warned.

Saul just smiled and looked straight into Rusty's eyes. "Yes," he said simply. "This is what I want."

Rusty nodded slowly. "Okay then," he said, and Saul could live with the acceptance.

"This means that I am going to be here more often than I am away," he pointed out firmly. "So any time people wanted to drop by would be convenient."

"Is that your way of saying we should visit more often?" Danny asked lightly.

Saul didn't look away from Rusty. "You are always welcome," he said again, and he needed Rusty – both of them – to understand that his retirement was never going to mean that he didn't want to see them on a regular basis.

"We know, Saul," Rusty promised and he was smiling.

"Good." Saul stood up, wincing slightly. Oh, as fun as this had been, he really was getting too old. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in a few hours. Try not to get in too much trouble."

"Saul – " Danny was grinning. "When do – "

" – we _ever _get in trouble?" Rusty finished with an identical grin.

He shook his head severely at the pair of them. "I am going to ignore that," he told them, shaking Linus lightly by the shoulder and ushering him upstairs.

It had been a very good day.

* * *

Alone with Rusty, and Danny figured that they should probably head upstairs for a few hours sleep, but somehow he just didn't think it was going to happen.

"Exactly what trouble does Saul think we're going to get into sitting in his living room?" Rusty wondered.

"Popcorn popper," Danny reminded him succinctly. "Fake stained glass."

Rusty winced. "Oh, that was one time. And we were young and foolish – "

" – and drunk," Danny put in.

"Exactly," Rusty agreed. "We're not drunk now. Or young."

"Speak for yourself," Danny said mildly.

Rusty's eyes were distant. "I was."

Hesitantly, Danny reached over and placed his hand on Rusty's. "Hey. What's brought this on?"

"I got something for you," Rusty told him abruptly. "I was going to give it to you on your birthday, but it didn't seem...things got strange."

"Yeah," Danny agreed.

"Was a long time ago," Rusty said vaguely and he pulled a thin package out of his jacket pocket. "Here."

Danny stared at it for a long moment. Then he carefully unwrapped it and stared some more.

"I didn't spend all our money this time," Rusty said from a long way away. "Not quite, anyway."

It was his watch.

Not the same watch, that was impossible, that was long gone, but the look of it, the _feel _of it...it was his watch. Somehow, it was his watch.

"I threw it away," he said hoarsely. "I threw it away."

"But you got it back," Rusty said. "You wanted it back."

Danny sat helplessly as Rusty carefully reached out, took the watch from the box and fastened it round his wrist.

It was different. It _felt _different. But in every way that mattered it was the same and it felt the same and he didn't want to lose it. Not ever again.


	13. Three months after

**A/N: This chapter was preread magnificently by InSilva who is fantastic that way. And she wanted at least one bit to be more graphic. So it is. But seriously, she is never any less than brilliant, and a mathematically improbable amount of thank yous go to her.**

**A/N2: Usual warnings apply. Beware.**

**A/N3: I quote The Shawshank Redemption in this chapter. Just to acknowledge, I didn't write that.  
**

* * *

_Three months after..._

There was a night, a hot and balmy night in a small hotel on the road somewhere south of Albuquerque. They'd had a run of good days, days where they'd been relaxed and contented and carefree. After they'd got through with the jewellers in Albuquerque they'd decided on a little downtime, and they'd eaten ice-cream, solemnly inspected the world's largest firecracker, conned an overbearing lawyer out of his Ferrari for no other reason than the fact that they could and he'd been rude to the concierge...it had been good and there'd been a whole week without nightmares. And Danny tried not to let himself plan too far ahead anymore, but that night he'd gone to sleep with his arms around Rusty and the future had seemed to shine for them.

And Rusty woke up with an erection.

It wasn't as if it should have been an issue. If life was normal. If _they_ were normal. Wasn't as if it had never happened Before. Sharing a bed wasn't a new concept to them, there had been times when necessity of one kind or another had led them there, and on a couple of occasions one or other of them had woken up hard and that had bothered precisely no-one.

But that was Before.

It meant something different now.

A few short weeks after the Benedict job, Danny had woken up with happy memories of Tess in his mind and a smile on his face. There had been a moment of warmth and contentment and amnesia, and he'd rolled over and his arm had brushed against Rusty's and he'd remembered everything, and he'd looked at himself, at the bed, at Rusty and he'd stealthily bolted for the bathroom. The thought of what could have happened soon took care of the problem. If Rusty had been awake, if Rusty had seen, God, if he'd rolled over a bit further and Rusty had _felt – _Danny shivered with dread and self-disgust. It couldn't be allowed to happen again, and through what seemed like pure will power, it hadn't.

And now he woke up, a couple of seconds after Rusty, perhaps, he hoped, and he glanced over and he realised, and Rusty was staring at himself, and Danny grimaced and thought of the appointment with Stan and Rusty had said that he _couldn't_ anymore, and there had been relief in his voice, and Danny had wanted to scream at seeing again the damage to Rusty's soul, but Rusty had silently asked him not to ask, and he hadn't, but he should have, he should have, because Rusty looked up at him and his eyes, his eyes were blank and unseeing and the air crackled with fear and despair and infinite horror.

Unthinkingly, desperately – stupidly – he reached out a hand towards Rusty, reassurance and comfort the only things on his mind.

The moment was broken.

Rusty's face twisted with disgust and hatred and it was all aimed inwards. He scrambled away, running before Danny had a chance to react.

There was the slam of the bathroom door.

There was the click of it locking.

There was the sound of glass breaking.

There was terror, and Danny was on his feet, was running, was screaming and begging Rusty to open the door.

No answer, of course no answer, and he threw himself at it again and again and each time he felt it give a little more, and that wasn't good enough, because there was silence from inside the bathroom, and silence was always, always the worst now.

Finally the door gave in and he ran into the room and the glass crunched under his bare feet and there was horror beyond his understanding.

Vaguely he noticed the door of the shower was smashed, vaguely he noted Rusty's pyjamas lying in a torn heap on the ground, vaguely he saw the tiles were splashed with blood. Really, all his attention was on Rusty, standing in the middle of the floor, naked and bleeding, a dagger of broken glass in his too-tightly clenched fist, and he'd already slashed across his chest, and he wasn't seeing Danny, didn't even know that Danny was there, and Danny could see where Rusty's attention was focused, could see where Rusty had struck at himself with most force, most hatred, and Danny could scream, but he was already throwing himself forwards, and he grabbed Rusty's wrist with both hands before Rusty managed to bring the glass down on himself again.

They struggled desperately, Danny trying to prise the glass out of Rusty's hand, Rusty trying to keep hold of it. And neither of them cared about trying not to hurt.

Danny begged and pleaded and barely knew what he was saying. "Rusty, Rusty, don't do this. Listen to me. Listen, please, you don't want to do this."

Rusty didn't say a word, and when he suddenly stopped fighting, Danny had to look to him for the reason.

That was when Rusty punched him in the face. Hard.

Danny stumbled backwards, and there was blood in his eyes, and he had to blink furiously to clear his head, and _he'd let go of Rusty_ and Rusty was bringing the glass up to his own throat, the _glass_ was at Rusty's _throat_, and Danny screamed and heard the nightmare and the suffering in his own voice, and he grabbed Rusty's arm again and it was as if he was standing outside himself, watching in horror as he smashed Rusty's hand against the edge of the sink until Rusty dropped the glass.

Rusty struggled and hit out at him again and again, and Danny wrapped his arms round Rusty tightly and forcibly dragged him out of the bathroom, away from the rest of the glass, away from temptation, and Rusty kicked him, hurt him, fought, silently fought, every step of the way, desperate for the moment that Danny couldn't let him have.

He pushed Rusty down onto the bed and held him down, his hands gripping Rusty's bare arms, his knees pushing into Rusty's legs, his weight overpowering Rusty, and he ignored the desperate struggles and tried to keep eye contact with Rusty, tried to offer calmness he couldn't feel and tried not to think about what he was doing, tried not to compare himself to the other men who had done what he was doing.

"Danny, let me . . . please, let me go." Rusty's voice was hoarse and trembling, and Danny barely recognised it.

"I can't do that right now, Rus'. I'm sorry." His own voice was broken. But he knew what Rusty would do the moment he let go. He was hurting Rusty to save him. (_He was hurting Rusty._)

"You have to let me. I need to die, Danny, I need to. I know . . . I can't escape what I am. I want . . .please don't fuck me, Danny."

The last was a whisper and Danny thought (_hoped_) he'd misheard. "What?"

"Please don't fuck me, Danny. Please." Rusty was looking at him. Rusty was looking at _him_, at Danny, knowing exactly who he was. This wasn't a flashback, Rusty wasn't lost inside his memories as he had been before, striking out at Danny in the place of the monster. Rusty was asking Danny not to . . . was begging Danny . . .hopelessly pleading with Danny . . . thinking that he _would_ . . . thinking that he _could_ . . .

"Rus', no," he whispered and his tears were falling on Rusty's bare chest. "Never."

Rusty didn't seem to hear him. "I know I want it . . . _He_ was right, I always want it, from everyone, anyone, as many as possible, everyway I can . . . it's all I'm good for . . . all I deserve . . ."

"No," Danny snarled and for the briefest second he wanted to force Rusty to give him a name. "That's not true, Rus'. What happened has nothing to do with who you are. You _know _that. We've...I _know _you know that."

"But it's what they all see when they look at me." Rusty tried to shove him back again, and Danny held on like grim death. "Don't you see, that's why I should die. Because I'm nothing, just a greedy little slut with a hungry mouth and a fuckable ass, who needs a man inside him, and . . . " He broke off into shuddering sobs. "Danny, Danny, please don't fuck me."

The words. The hideous, obscene, blasphemous words falling out of Rusty. Danny was dying, a little at a time. "I would never," he promised his voice choked. "And you fought, Rus'. You fought every time. You never wanted it. It was never your fault. You _know _that."

Rusty was shaking now, and the tears were flowing freely. "He put his hand on me, Danny. He kept stroking at me, and I was tied up and I couldn't stop Him, and I thought I wanted to stop Him, I did, but I got hard and He wouldn't stop, and He . . . and I . . . and He wiped it on my face, and they were all laughing, and you see? He was right, Danny, He was right. I did want it all along."

The world was frozen in time. The fury wove itself through every thread of Danny's soul. The fury. The horror. The pain. He'd thought, with the file and the pictures, standing in front of Carson, he'd thought that was as angry as he could get. He'd been wrong. There was a man walking somewhere in the world, who had violated Rusty in ways that Danny, with all his vaunted vision, would never have been able to imagine. And there was Rusty, bleeding and naked and crying beneath him, hurt and afraid and trapped.

He could feel Rusty trembling beneath him, could see each silent tear, and Rusty's control, Rusty's sense of self was fraying now, was at the absolute limit now. " . . . dirty . . . "he whispered, and Danny's soul ached.

"I know," he soothed helplessly. He could _feel _how Rusty felt and he wished he had the words to make it better.

The door slammed open.

Danny looked up with a jolt of shock and he recognised the two men standing in the door. The manager and the burly bellhop. "Alright, what's going on – Jesus _Christ!"_

They'd been making too much noise, Danny dimly realised. They'd been making far too much noise and someone had called the front desk, and now these men were here and Rusty was naked and bleeding on the bed beneath him, still struggling weakly, still trying to shove Danny off him, and Danny's hands were clamped tight around Rusty's arms.

Danny had a very good idea what this looked like.

He couldn't begin to explain. He _wouldn't _explain.

He didn't have a chance to; a split second later and the door had slammed shut and he _knew _the manager would be calling the police, could imagine what he would be saying.

"Rus', we need to get out of here," he said urgently, and he wasn't so sure that Rusty had even registered the interruption. "_Please." _

Rusty stared up at him blankly.

"Please," he begged again. "There are going to be cops here any minute. They're going to arrest us...me." They would arrest him and they'd take Rusty away and he couldn't let that happen.

Terror dawned on Rusty's face. "You can't go to prison! Carson promised!"

He'd take it. God help him, right now, he'd take it. "He lied," he claimed wildly. "We just need to get dressed and get out of here. If...if I let you up, will you get dressed and do what I say?"

Slowly, Rusty nodded.

A second later and Danny stood up, backing away carefully, ready to grab Rusty again if he had to, but Rusty just reached into his holdall and grabbed some clothes.

Good. Good. He just had to concentrate on getting them out of here right now. Later and they'd work through this, like they'd worked through anything else, and that worked for him as long as he didn't think about the fact that he was still covered in Rusty's blood, about the sight of the glass in Rusty's hand, about the fact that if he'd been just a little slower Rusty would be dead now.

He dressed quickly and mechanically, not taking his eyes off Rusty for a moment. Getting out of a hotel room in a hurry. Not exactly a new experience. They'd done it a hundred times before and this was pure instinct. Clothes and shoes, leave everything else and they were ready in less than a minute. He already knew there was no point in trying the window. Three storey drop and the fire escape was out of reach. They'd have to chance the stairs.

"Come on!" Rusty said urgently. "Carson won't stop."

He nodded shortly, not even beginning to try and correct him. Rusty was coherent and moving and Danny was terrified that one wrong move and he'd unravel completely.

Easing the door open fractionally, he glanced into the hall. The manager and the bellhop were huddled by the elevator, looking nervous to the point of terror. Danny couldn't exactly blame them. This was probably a few light years outside of their normal experience.

"I don't think they'll try and stop us," he said softly, looking back at Rusty. "Come on." He longed to reach out and grab Rusty's arm, pull him alongside him, but Rusty was maybe more on edge than Danny had ever seen him, worse, perhaps, than that night in Vegas, the night before the Benedict job, and one little touch might be all it took to shatter him beyond repair.

He ran steadily for the stairs, conscious of Rusty following him with every step, and he did his best to look intimidating to the hotel staff.

They stood aside.

The four cops who were charging up the stairs didn't.

He was knocked to the ground, pinned down, the breath knocked out of him, and he was looking round frantically, and Rusty was being held by the other two cops, and his eyes were wild and uncomprehending and terrified, and Danny was screaming at the cops to let him go, and he struggled and kicked out at them until his head hit against the concrete step.

* * *

Rusty wasn't sure what was going on.

It was like a nightmare. All he had were flashes. Little glimpses of memory that he couldn't be sure of.

He remembered a feeling of...of _pleasure _that sickened him.

He remembered pain and blood and terror and hate and deserving every second of it.

He remembered being held down by Danny on a bed, naked and crying and begging.

He remembered the police, coming out of nowhere, Danny fighting, Danny being knocked to the ground and for a long moment he hadn't been sure that Danny was going to get up again.

And then they'd dragged Danny away and that was the first thing that he really was sure of. Danny had looked him in the eyes, broken away from the cops just a little, enough to lean forwards and whisper.

"_Don't let them lock you up. Please, Rus'." _

And then Danny had been gone, and he'd asked the cops where and they wouldn't answer, they'd just said he was safe now, and they'd escorted him downstairs, past a whole lounge of staring people and out to a waiting car, and they'd driven him off and he didn't know what had happened and he couldn't let them know that so he couldn't ask.

Nothing was right here.

Nothing was right and they hadn't stopped touching him and they wouldn't stop looking at him and they'd taken Danny away and he couldn't stand it, and Moffatt's voice was playing in his head over and over again.

"_You like it. You don't have to pretend. You _want _to take them all. To have them all inside you, every way you can, two or three at a time. You're desperate for it, aren't you?"_

He couldn't get away from the voice and it was like Moffatt was right _here_, right in this little whitewashed room with the cubicle and the bed and it smelled like antiseptic, like the infirmary, but he could smell sex and filth and desperation. Coming from him, had to be. Even after all this time he hadn't washed it off.

(_Because, deep down, maybe he didn't want to._)

"Mr Ryan?" He blinked at the man in front of him. A doctor, he thought, and the cops were standing just on the other side of the curtain, listening, watching, and Danny was nowhere. "Mr Ryan, I need to examine you and treat your injuries. If you wouldn't mind?" He gestured behind him.

Oh. The doctor wanted him on the bed. So he could examine and touch and probe and look, and Rusty could _hear _that the gentle patience in his voice was forced, and Rusty could hear all the layers of scorn and disgust.

(_Danny had wanted him on a bed – no!)_

"_You _like _it. You want them looking at you. You want them touching you. Deep down you're a needy little slut whether you want to admit it or not."_

Moffatt was standing right behind him. Whispering (_truth_) in his ear and Rusty had to be careful not to let anything show in his face because the doctor, the guards – they _trusted _Moffatt. Odds were good that they'd believe Moffatt over him, and more than that they'd know, and maybe that would mean that they'd keep him in the infirmary longer and he'd have to deal with Moffatt's hands all over him and -

This wasn't the infirmary. It looked like it, felt like it, and he could hear the noise of boots on metal walkways, but he wasn't in prison anymore. Cops, not guards, and they'd taken Danny away and he had to stay focused. He couldn't let himself get lost because Danny was counting on him.

"Mr Ryan, I need you to take off your clothes. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is. No one here is going to judge you."

_Moffatt's hand was stroking through his hair. "They are judging you, you know they're judging you. But that's alright. What do you want to bet that doctor likes what he sees? What do you want to bet that he wants to get you on that bed and give you exactly what you need? Just like Danny. You'll like that, won't you?"_

"Where's Danny?" he asked again and his voice trembled and he was barely in control and he knew everyone could hear it.

The doctor pursed his lips and did his best to look sympathetic. "Look, he can't hurt you anymore. They've got him locked up at the station and soon as we're done here they'll be throwing the book at him. You've got nothing to be scared of. Get a grip, man."

They thought Danny had hurt him. Somehow, for some crazy, incomprehensible reason, they thought Danny had hurt him. And that wasn't true. He resolutely ignored the ache in his arms that spoke of being held down and the throbbing bruises on his face and legs, and the sharp pain and the blood at the front of his pants. Danny wouldn't hurt him.

"_You _wanted_ him to hurt you," Moffatt murmured. "Everything you ever do, everything you ever say, and you're begging for it." _

They'd locked Danny up. They couldn't lock Danny up, Danny hadn't done anything wrong! But they were going to insist on examining him, they weren't going to take his word for it, and he wasn't going to be able to get through that. He was clinging on to reality by his very fingertips, and if he lost it here, now, Danny would never get free. And he couldn't let Danny go to prison. Danny was...there was no part of Danny that secretly longed for it. There was no part of Danny that deserved it.

Everything was so confusing.

"_You want it," Moffatt said and his hand was trailing down the front of Rusty's pants, rubbing insistently. "You always want it."_

Danny wasn't going to prison. That was what mattered.

He saw a chance and threw himself headlong into the chains that Moffatt offered.

* * *

"Get down there," the cop with the Magnum moustache said harshly, shoving Danny in the small of the back down the stairs towards the holding cells.

Two cells. One had about six men in it, and Danny didn't like to jump to conclusions, but the biker leathers and the tattoos and the muscles and the staring had him worried.

He hadn't been arrested. Not officially, not yet, he'd just been taken in while they did God-knew-what to Rusty.

Rusty.

God, Rusty.

He'd failed. He'd left Rusty alone when Rusty was lost and vulnerable and he didn't know what was going to happen. Didn't know how he could make this right, he just knew that nothing could ever go right if Rusty was in the hands of these moronic cops.

That was what mattered. Rusty wasn't going to be locked up ever again. And that meant that he couldn't just tell the truth because he wasn't so sure that they'd be allowed to go on their way. Rusty had...and he'd tried to...and Danny couldn't see that the cops would just let that go. It might mean that Rusty was taken away from him, locked up for assessment, and right about that time would be when the cops realised that Rusty was violating the terms of his parole. And the two things together...One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. They might never let Rusty go.

Wasn't going to happen. Was never going to happen.

He twisted his head round to stare at the cop. "Where's Rusty?" he asked, and he could be calm and reasonable when he had to be, and right now he had to be, because he wanted to scream and shout and tear the fucking building to pieces but if he did, he wasn't getting anywhere. "What have you done with him?"

Magnum laughed and turned and called back up the stairs to his partner who still had sugar on his face from the doughnuts he'd demolished in the car. "You hear that? The faggot wants to know where his little love toy is!" He'd made sure that his voice carried and the bikers immediately started yelling, catcalls and threats.

"Whatever," Doughnut muttered. "Just get him in the cell, can't you?"

"Where's Rusty?" Danny asked again, the snarl at the description buried deep inside. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't let this fury at these bastards out. They had all the cards. They had _Rusty_. Somewhere, they had Rusty, and he didn't dare piss them off.

Magnum glared at him and shoved him forwards, shoved him between the two cells. "You're really starting to annoy me. You should've thought about your fucking boyfriend before you tried to cut his cock off."

"Fucking faggot!" the nearest biker sneered, pressed up against the bars of the cell, reaching out towards Danny. "Wait till we get our hands on you, huh? You're gonna like to suck my cock."

Danny's eyes didn't leave the cop's face for a second. There was only one thing that mattered here. "Where's Rusty?" he said again. Calm and reasonable. Just like with Carson.

Magnum blinked a couple of times and leaned backwards. "They took him to the hospital," he said unwillingly.

The hospital. That was...it could be worse. "I need to see him," he said, his voice soft and intent and persuasive. "Take me to him."

Magnum laughed incredulously, seeming to regain confidence and belligerence. "That's not going to happen. Soon as we get your little fucktoy to press charges, you're going to be locked up for a very long time, and your _boyfriend_ is going to be looking for someone else to ride him."

No! He couldn't let that happen. He wasn't going to let that happen. "He needs me!" he snarled, trying to push past the cop. "Let me see him!"

He was shoved him back against the bars. "You're going nowhere, faggot." Magnum spat in his face and dragged him towards the bikers' cell, and Danny struggled but he wasn't going anywhere the cops didn't want him to, and the bikers were cheering and jeering and howling for blood, and this was taking him further away from Rusty and Rusty _needed _him.

"Put him in the empty one," Doughnut yelled down the stairs. "Last thing we need is a lawsuit."

A disgruntled sigh and another shove, and he was falling backwards into the cell, and by the time he was on his feet the door was already closed and he hurled himself at the bars, hoping they would break with the sheer force of his fury, and when that didn't work he tried again. And again. And again, and the cops were walking away, shaking their heads and they were gone.

"You so anxious to get out, faggot?" the biker called from the other cell. "You and me are going to have some good times. And maybe when we get out of here tomorrow, we'll go look up your sweet little boyfriend. He give good head?"

Danny spun round and for a moment if the bars between the cells hadn't been there he would have thrown himself at them, would have tried to kill them. "Shut the fuck up," he said in a low voice.

They didn't.

Of course they didn't.

They were laughing and uncaring and in another world, in different circumstances, they might have been on that list, might have been some of the men who'd hurt Rusty, and that was reason enough to hate them.

But he couldn't listen to them anymore and he couldn't get out of here, and Rusty was in some hospital, being _examined, _being touched by a doctor who didn't know and wasn't Stan, and the last he'd seen Rusty had been nowhere close to being able to deal with that, last he'd seen Rusty had been hurting and bewildered, lost in his own head, and Danny wasn't there and couldn't help him and couldn't stop him.

(_The cops and the doctors, they might let Rusty go. They might let Rusty go or they might just turn their backs for a moment too long, and Rusty might...all it would ever take was a moment.) _

He mustn't think about that. He couldn't think about that any more than he could think about the glass in Rusty's hand, the terror in Rusty's eyes as he begged Danny not to...his fist slammed against the wall and he didn't even notice. If he thought about that, he was lost. If he thought about that, then he'd be reduced to a storm of unreasoning, unrelenting emotion, fire and ice and rage and screaming. Like he had been before with Carson, when he'd seen those photos, the almost physical _need _he'd felt, the drive towards mindless, righteous revenge. It had been almost disastrous then. It would be completely useless now.

He had to keep himself together. He had to be all about the practical. He had to be a fucking _robot._

He had to get himself out of here...

No.

He had to get Rusty safe.

* * *

The confusion had faded now. It was all very simple. These people thought that he'd been hurt, thought that he'd been victimised, and all he had to do was show them that simply wasn't the case.

"_You like it," _Moffatt whispered in his mind over and over. "_You've always liked it." _

He was smiling and he was empty and everything was the way it should be. Pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain.

Everything was alright.

_He _was alright.

The curtains were closed and the cops were on the other side, leaving the doctor the only one watching him undress.

He took his time over it, carefully letting the bloodstained silk slink over his shoulders, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and slowly, teasingly, letting them fall gracefully to the floor. Daintily he stepped away from them, kicking off his shoes and socks in the process.

He looked over his shoulder at the doctor and smiled enticingly. "You want my underwear too?" he murmured.

The doctor was watching him and Rusty didn't recognise the expression on his face. "Yes. Please, Mr Ryan."

"Whatever you say," Rusty agreed lazily, letting the flirt ripple through his voice.

"_You'll take your clothes off for anyone, won't you?" Moffatt whispered, behind him now. "My dirty, filthy slut." _

Rusty didn't look round and he didn't agree and he forgot why it hurt and he slipped his boxers over his hips slowly, and it stung a little as it ripped away the dried blood, sticking to his skin.

Pain. Pain and blood.

"_You want it." Moffatt reminded him and he resisted the urge to nod._

He had to make them see that Danny hadn't hurt him. That no one had hurt him. Not in any way he hadn't longed for.

He knew what he was.

This was right.

He let the boxers fall to the floor leaving him naked and exposed. Laid bare and on display and completely fuckable.

"Please put this on, Mr Ryan," the doctor said, passing him a thin paper gown and his eyes were fixed on the blood and on the scars.

"See anything you like?" Rusty asked, a soft smile playing around his mouth.

The doctor's eyes flickered up to his face. "You're hurt. I'm going to need to examine you and treat your injuries. Would you mind getting onto the bed?"

"If that's where you want me," Rusty agreed breathily, and he perched on the bed, leaning backwards on his hands, his legs spread wide.

The doctor stepped forwards, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

A stab of cold fear and it was inexplicable. There was nothing wrong here at all.

"_No, there isn't, is there?" Moffatt commented softly. "Who knows? If you're _really _good, maybe this doctor will give you what you want." _

Give him what he wanted. He wondered. Was that what Danny had done?

He didn't remember.

He felt so cold. So empty.

"_Smile at the nice doctor," Moffatt suggested. "Let him know that you want it. Let him know that you need it. Maybe he'll warm you up. Maybe he'll fill you. Won't that be nice?" _

Moffatt wasn't real. Moffatt wasn't here. Just a voice telling him what to do. The only anchor he had.

He smiled.

* * *

"I need to make a phone call," Danny shouted, the words echoing around the cell block. "Now. Please."

There was no answer apart from the bikers laughing.

"You hear that?" The sound of mocking. "_Please? _Who you going to call?"

"You want your fucking lawyer, faggot?"

No. He didn't want a lawyer.

He needed to phone Saul.

He needed to have the conversation he couldn't imagine having.

So many things he didn't want to say. So many things _Rusty _wouldn't want him to say. But he _had_ to.

No matter how he thought, he couldn't come up with a single story to explain all this that got both of them free and clear. Not one that he could sell.

Saul...Saul would be able to get Rusty out of here at least.

God, that was what it came down to.

"_Hi, Saul, I'm going to be arrested for sexually assaulting Rusty, and Rusty is bleeding and suicidal and lost and locked up and I need you to sort this out because I fucked up." _

For a second he thought he was going to cry. This was _wrong. _This was all wrong.

And even if – when – he did get to phone Saul, it would mean sharing so many things that Rusty wouldn't want shared. And maybe Saul would even have to tell Bobby in the interests of expedience, and Danny had to figure that there was a good chance that Rusty would never forgive him.

He thought, maybe, he'd have to live with that.

He'd rather see Rusty hate him than see Rusty locked up. Or worse.

(_That had a familiarity he didn't want to think of._)

Fuck.

What was Rusty doing now? What was being done to Rusty now? He had no idea and he couldn't get out of here and all he had was the possibility

that if he made a phone call Saul would be able to help. And maybe it was already too late. God, what if it was already too late?

And more than that, he couldn't even make the _fucking phone call!_

He rattled the bars, kicked at them. Tried to make as much noise as humanly possible. "Hey! Hey, I need to make a phonecall!"

* * *

Hands all over him. Touching him. Checking him. And something in the back of his head was screaming and screaming and he didn't know why.

This was what he wanted. This was what he was made for. This was what he wanted. This was what he was made for.

He had to keep telling himself that.

"How did you get these injuries?" the doctor asked him, after an eternity.

"Hey, doc, that's a police matter." A sharp protest from the man behind the curtain. Huh. That was funny. Had he asked for a brain, a heart or courage? He didn't remember what he wanted.

"_You know what you want," Moffatt reminded him, and he could feel Moffatt's hands on him now, above the doctor's, below the doctor's, warmer and more meaningful._

He felt himself relax under Moffatt's touch and he had to struggle to remember that he wasn't safely tucked up in his cell. Had to blink hard to see the hospital and the doctor.

"Why don't you come in here and ask me yourself?" he suggested breathily. "I'm sure you have better things to do than hang around a hospital, waiting on little me." The sooner he had them convinced that he was fine – that he was more than fine – the sooner he could get back to Danny. Danny knew what he needed.

"I'm not finished treating you!" the doctor protested. "There are issues of patient confidentiality to consider. You have a right to your dignity."

He grinned. "'s fine. I have nothing to hide. And I'm not ashamed of anything."

The sound of suppressed laughter the other side of the curtain, disbelieving and disparaging.

"_They're happy to believe you're a perverted little slut," Moffatt advised him softly. "You see? Everyone can see what you are just by looking. You shouldn't have tried to deny it so long." _

Moffatt was right. The cops wouldn't take much convincing. This was going to be easier than he thought.

"If you're sure," the doctor agreed, and his frown was doubtful, but the look in his eyes...impatient disgust. Like Rusty was the lowest of the low.

"_He looks at you the way the guards used to look at you, doesn't he?" Moffatt commented. _ "_They all knew, you know. They knew what you made me do to you. _For _you. If it was anyone else, they would've interfered. But they could see you wanted it. If I'd allowed it, a few of them might have even joined in our little games! That would've been _fun_, wouldn't it?" _

Would it? He supposed...he had to trust Moffatt. Moffatt was all he had.

The cops pulled the curtains open rudely, and they were standing there, looking down at him.

He smiled some more. Tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and the gown slipped a little, just like he'd known it would, and the bitemark was visible on his shoulder, drawing their attention. Guards would know what that meant. Would know what that meant he _liked._

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he said, his eyes alive with innuendo.

They stood around, shuffling their feet. "We just got a few questions. Can you tell us what happened this morning?"

He leaned back a little further. Spread his legs while the doctor worked between them. "Well, I was...exercising...with my boyfriend, if you know what I mean," he winked at them knowingly. "And I guess we got a little carried away. Made a little too much noise in the..._heat _of the moment. The hotel staff burst in and I guess they got the wrong impression and called the cops."

The taller of the cops frowned. "That doesn't explain your injuries, now, does it?"

"I need to put a couple of sutures here," the doctor said, and his voice didn't even sound in the least bit sympathetic now. "You'll need to hold still."

He nodded uncaringly and the two cops visibly winced as the doctor pulled out the needle.

"Maybe we'll wait outside after all," the cops said hurriedly, and they dived back through the curtains.

"I'm going to give you a shot of local anaesthetic," the doctor told him, turning away.

Drugs. He didn't want any drugs. He was sure of that.

"_You want to feel everything, isn't that right_?" Moffatt murmured.

"I do," he agreed quickly. He really did.

The doctor turned and frowned at him. "You do _what_?"

Oh. Right. Fuck. "I don't want the anaesthetic," he explained.

"It's going to hurt," the doctor warned.

He smiled and looked straight at the doctor through lowered eyelashes. "I don't mind that. Not one bit."

"Right." The doctor turned away, shaking his head in disgust. "Fucking fruit," he muttered under his breath and Rusty wasn't sure whether he was supposed to have heard that or not.

* * *

It must have been at least two hours now. He couldn't be sure; they'd taken his watch. The watch that Rusty had given him, the watch that meant that Rusty wanted to stay with him, and they'd _taken _it just like they'd taken Rusty and Danny was pacing round this little concrete hell, going out of his head, and it must have been at _least _two hours.

Two hours. And they hadn't arrested him and they hadn't let him go and they hadn't even fucking _interviewed _him. There was no way in which that was a good sign.

What was happening to Rusty?

That was the only thought in his head. Burnt into his mind like a brand, and there was just no answer to it.

Not that the lack of information slowed his imagination down any.

Hospital, the cop had said, and Danny was seeing Rusty in some sterile room, stripped bare, surrounded by strangers, _frightened. _Rusty couldn't deal with _Danny_ seeing him naked, and he couldn't stop remembering Rusty crying and begging him...pleading with him...and _that _in front of strangers, in front of the uncomprehending and the unsympathetic...The scream was burning through him.

And, God! They'd be taking photographs. Like the ones...like those ones. Taking photographs and telling Rusty that Danny had hurt him, and Rusty would be alone. Just like he had been inside, and Rusty had been so lost earlier, and maybe he'd think Danny had left him on purpose. Abandoned him, like he'd promised he never would.

And he imagined the doctor turning away for a moment, imagined a convenient scalpel, Rusty raising it to his throat like the glass this morning...

Somehow he was on his knees in front of the chemical toilet and he thought he was never going to stop retching.

The bikers were laughing.

"Aw, the tough faggot doesn't seem so tough anymore?"

"You scared of going to jail?"

"Yeah, your sort is popular in County. _Real _popular."

Didn't matter. He wiped at his mouth with a shaky hand, looking over his shoulder, just in case, somehow, the commotion had encouraged a cop to wander in earshot.

Nothing.

God, he needed that phone call.

Rusty needed him. Rusty was counting on him and here he was, fucking _useless. _

"Aw, he's probably just lonely for his little boyfriend," one of them crooned loudly.

"Shut the fuck up," he said, furiously, spinning to face them, and it was impossible to concentrate on being practical when he was so helpless.

"Ooh, touchy," the guy laughed. "He does give good head, doesn't he?"

"Maybe we should show him what he's missing."

"We'll make sure he's not lonely."

"See how many of us can ride him at once!"

"This time tomorrow it won't be _your _name he's screaming!"

They were leaning on the bars, laughing and gesturing, and he threw himself at them with a wordless cry of fury, punching and kicking through the bars, and they were hitting back, and he felt his head slam against the bars once, twice, and this was stupid and this was pointless and he was wasting his time here while Rusty could be _dying._

He stepped back and launched himself at the cell door.

"Let me out of here!" he howled, and the desperation echoed around the cell block. "Let me see Rusty!"

* * *

More pain and more blood and he smiled throughout as the doctor glared at him, and he focused on being open and uncaring.

Still nothing wrong here. It was getting easier and easier to convince himself. Didn't feel like there was a part of him left fighting truth.

"_Told you you liked it really," Moffatt reminded him. "You see how easy it all is when you just surrender?" _

Eventually the doctor stalked away leaving him shivering in the paper gown, smothered with dressings and with the sensememory of cold fingers all over him. Was a time, not so long ago, when that would have been enough to send him into a spiral of fear and despair. Now he couldn't exactly remember why.

What he wanted. Right...?

"_Right." _

The doctor was replaced by a mug of hot, sweet tea, a plate of assorted cookies and two cops.

Some sort of standard procedure, he figured, gazing at the cookies abstractedly. Give the potential trauma victim (_Not that he was, oh no, not a victim and certainly not in the least bit traumatised.)_ something to focus on. Something that suggested that he was going to be treated like a human being.

He guessed it saved the cops the bother of actually looking at him like he was a human being. Judging from the blatant disgust and prurient curiosity on their faces, anyway.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked, crossing and uncrossing his legs so that the gown rode up over his thighs, seemingly accidentally.

"Can you tell us how you came by these injuries?" the cop on the left asked. The older one. He hadn't caught either of their names.

"_Names aren't important to you anyway," Moffatt pointed out, and Rusty agreed._

"I already told you," he answered easily. "We were having some fun. Sorry about the hotel room. We're more than willing to pay for damages." He closed his eyes and sighed happily for a second, remembering the feeling of pain and degradation. "Was worth it."

"Look..._son," _the older cop said with a grimace. "If you're scared to speak up, if he's threatening you in some way, we can protect you."

"You've got a duty to speak up," the younger cop interrupted, frowning.

"You're protecting some asshole who beat the crap out of you and cut your dick to ribbons. You think about what he might do next, huh? You want to think about how you'll feel when he goes out, picks up some other trick, and does the same thing to them?"

"He won't do that," Rusty said confidently.

The younger cop snorted. "Right. Doc's report here that says that you've been assaulted numerous times over the last few years in some pretty fucking sick ways. How can you be so sure?"

Rusty smiled and lowered his eyes coyly. "Because no-one's ever hurt me in any way I wasn't begging for."

There was silence. The cops were both staring at him. He took a moment to cross and uncross his legs again, before reaching over and innocently picking up a chocolate finger from the tray of cookies.

"You're saying you _wanted _this?" the younger cop demanded incredulously.

"You're saying this was entirely consensual," the older one cut in, with a reproving look.

"_You need to show them," Moffatt warned him, amusement in his voice. "You need to let them see exactly what you are. You need to let them know you _love _it." _

"Oh, yes," he agreed, delicately licking the very tip of the chocolate finger in his hand, his tongue just rippling across the curve. "I love every minute of it."

The younger cop was staring at his mouth, seeming just a little lost for words. The older one coughed. "According to Jimmy from the hotel, when he walked through the door you were being held down on the bed, struggling and screaming."

"Well, now, there are all sorts of ways to make a man scream, aren't there?" Rusty asked softly, brushing the chocolate teasingly across his lips. "If you'd come in ten minutes earlier you'd have seen me on my knees with my lips wrapped around his cock and his hands tangled in my hair."

He artlessly plunged the chocolate finger into his mouth, swirling it over his tongue, sucking joyfully and he could _see _the way they were looking at him, he could see the way the beads of sweat were forming on the older one's upper lip, the way the younger one's cheeks were pinkening.

"_More," Moffatt whispered. "You almost have them. Just a little more."_

"And if you'd come in ten minutes _later_ you'd have seen me on my back with my legs hooked over his shoulders, begging him to go harder and faster, to smack me around, to make me _his._" He gave a shuddering sigh. "It's too bad you didn't show up then...maybe you might have liked to join in. I love a man in uniform. I'm sure you would have enjoyed putting me in my place."

There was a long silence and it seemed like neither of the guards...cops... knew what to say, and they were leaning further forwards in their seats now, closer to him, _wanting _him, he was sure of it.

"So you're really saying you wanted this," the older cop said at last. "The cuts and the bruises...everything."

"Oh, _yes_," he agreed. He ran his tongue across his lips, a teasing little flick at the end as the cops were watching, and he leaned back on the bed and concentrated on the sound of Moffatt's voice, whispering in his soul. "It feels _good," _he said, and his voice was low and breathy.

"You _like _getting the crap beat out of you?" The younger cop was incredulous but his voice was breathless and there was still that hint of a blush and a hint of uncertainty and his eyes were drifting across Rusty's thighs with an expression he might have called hunger. "You fucking _pervert_."

He smiled again, his lips parted. "When it hurts it feels..._mmmm._" He took a long breath and the younger cop shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "There's something about being hurt and forced that I respond to. Have you never wanted to fuck someone who'd let you do whatever you wanted? Who'd let you take absolute control, who'd let you hurt them and lie there begging for more?"

The cops' eyes were wide and their mouths were open and they were hanging on his every word like they'd never heard anything like it.

_Moffatt was smiling at him, affection and approval shining through._

"At any rate, gentlemen," he said, standing up and stretching slowly. "The point is, there's no law against it now, is there? So you can let Danny go. You can let both of us go."

They exchanged a long look.

* * *

It was another eternity before the cop appeared at the top of the stairs. By that time Danny had shouted himself hoarse, and he'd found himself almost certain he was never getting out of here. So, when he heard the cop calling his name, the relief almost drowned out the fear and the fury. Almost.

"Ocean! Sheriff Johnson wants to interview you."

He looked up at the cop with dulled, desperate hope. Wasn't one of the ones from the hotel. He'd never seen this one before. "I need to make a phone call," he said quietly.

"Sure," the cop said with a shrug. "Once you've talked to the sheriff."

And that left him no further forwards. "Where's Rusty?" he tried. "What have you done with him?"

The cop shrugged again, uncaringly. "You'll need to talk to the sheriff." At least it didn't look like he was hiding anything, not as far as Danny could tell. And surely, _surely _if the worst had happened...if any of the worsts had happened...there would be some visible sign of it. Maybe Rusty was okay?

The cop opened the cell door and gazed sharply at his face. "What happened to you?"

His hand flew up unthinkingly and it was only then that he registered the pain. Right...the bikers...and the cops before that...and _Rusty..._ "Not important," he said quickly.

"You going to let us out?" one of the bikers demanded, distracting the cop nicely. "Come on, we been in here longer than that faggot."

"And you're here till tomorrow," the cop said shortly.

The cop had looked away and Danny found himself looking at the staircase. Wasn't that far, and he could run and he could find Rusty, get as far away from here as humanly possible. Tempting. But most likely he wouldn't get ten feet. Running in the middle of a police station was rarely the smartest move and maybe it would be one more thing that kept him away from Rusty.

He had to go along with this. Had to keep polite and hope they told him what was going on. Hope they gave him a phone call. Hope for _something._

"Come on," the cop said impatiently and he obediently followed him upstairs and walked past him into the interview room and waited as the cop closed the door behind him.

Table and two chairs. Little grille on the door. Security camera blinking away in the corner.

He wasn't wearing handcuffs but he might as well have been.

Last time he'd been in a little room like this had been the last time he'd seen Rusty for four years.

He wanted to be far away from this place. Far away and with Rusty and with all of today just an impossible nightmare.

They left him alone for a while and he was pacing up and down outside the door, pacing and waiting and pacing and waiting, anxious and alarmed and barely in control.

"Where's Rusty?" he demanded, the moment the door opened, before he'd even turned to see who was coming in.

The sheriff was standing there, watching him. Looked rather more Chief Wiggum than John Wayne. But he was staring like Sheriff Cooley and that wasn't in the slightest bit reassuring.

"Where's Rusty?" he asked again, into the silence.

"Sit down, freak," the sheriff said impatiently.

_Freak..._? What the fuck? He bit his tongue. Took a seat. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Alright, I'm sitting," he said with a polite and charming smile. "You ready to tell me what's going on?"

"Your pervert boyfriend told us everything," the sheriff said looking him straight in the eyes. "And if I got to set the laws round here instead of just enforcing them, I'd want to see you strung up. You want my personal opinion, you're a sick, twisted fuck."

Danny's mouth was dry and he could feel his heart hammering against his chest. What the fuck? What had Rusty told them? "Well, that's your opinion," he managed.

"So is it true then?" the sheriff went on, disgust in his voice. "You get off on beating him and he gets off on letting you, is that it?"

Oh, God. He stared at the sheriff, mind working furiously. That was what Rusty had told them? _That?_ He couldn't imagine...he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

But he _had _to. He really, truly had to. Because this...this would work. This was what Rusty had done to get him out of jail, and what else was he going to say? 'No, he did it to himself?' That would be a betrayal...he couldn't.

"Different strokes for different folks," he heard himself say distantly, and he smiled and inside he was screaming, and this couldn't be convincing, it just _couldn't._

The sheriff snorted. "Fucking freaks. In my day, you'd be ashamed to show yourselves amongst decent folks."

He believed him. Oh, god, he believed that Danny had hurt Rusty. He believed that Rusty had _wanted _it and it was all Danny could do to not throw up.

And, fuck, he supposed they were lucky that local law enforcement seemed quite so incompetent. He couldn't imagine that _Bobby _would have taken his word for it. Or hell, even Carson would call him a liar. Any halfway decent detective would have looked closer.

He was still trying to figure out how _Rusty _had managed to persuade them...

"Can I see Rusty now?" he asked quietly. "Are we free to go?"

"He'll be waiting out front for you," the sheriff told him. "And here's what you're going to do. You're going to take a cab round to the hotel. You're going to pay Jimmy whatever he says is reasonable for the room. You're going to take your stuff and you're going to get out of town as fast as you can. You'd better believe if I see your faces around here I am going to find _something _to throw at you. We don't like your type round here. Hell, I don't think we like your type in _America._"

Danny had all but stopped listening as soon as he'd heard that Rusty would be out front. He just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

He just wanted to see Rusty again.

* * *

The cops had told him they'd give him a lift back to the station. And that was good because that was where Danny was. They'd _told _him that was where Danny was and he'd promised Danny that he wouldn't leave him again, no matter what, and now he _had_, and nothing felt quite right anymore. He wanted to get back to Danny. Danny would give him what he needed.

He sat in the back of the squad car, gently drumming his fingers against the window and he was feeling on edge and ill-at-ease.

It had been a long day, of course.

And this morning...he still wasn't sure what had happened, but however..._good..._he remembered feeling, plainly they'd been interrupted before they'd finished.

Maybe that was what was wrong. Would explain everything. Once he was back with Danny, flat on his back beneath Danny, everything would be fine.

With a sudden start he realised that the squad car had pulled into an empty parking lot. Didn't look like the police station. He thought they'd said Danny was at the police station. He'd thought they were taking him to Danny. They'd _said._ He'd done everything right and they were supposed to take him to Danny.

"_They will,_" _Moffatt promised softly. "They will. Just keep listening to me and everything will be alright. Have I ever steered you wrong?" _

The younger cop had been driving, and now he was facing his partner, his hands flat on the steering wheel. "Oh, come on, Ray. This fucking pervert's been sitting there talking dirty and it's got me hot under the collar. Guy needs some relief. No one'll ever know. And the fag won't mind, right fag?"

Oh. Right. Of course. "I don't mind," he said softly. "I don't mind at all."

"See, Ray?" the younger cop said, smiling eagerly and making to slide into the back seat towards him. "He doesn't mind. Come on, we'll just be a half hour or so. Once he's sucked us both off, we'll be on our way."

"And I'll be back with Danny?" he asked, because that was what was important.

"Yeah, sure," the younger cop said dismissively. "Just as soon as I've had those lips wrapped around my dick."

"_That's right," Moffatt smiled. "Get down on your knees and suck them off nice and slow and show them how appreciative you are. And this time you won't need to pretend that you're not loving every second of it." _

"I don't know, Joe" Ray said at last, frowning doubtfully. "Don't know if I want this filthy pervert getting anywhere near my dick. Sounds like a quick way to catch something."

He tried not to blush. Tried not to look guilty. Tried not to look diseased. Tried to forget the truth, but he found his eyes had drifted towards the ground as he sat there, waiting for them to decide whether or not they wanted him.

" 'sides," Ray added after a second. "I'm not queer."

"Nothing gay about getting your cock sucked," Joe said immediately. "Isn't that right, fag?"

He nodded because Moffatt wasn't gay and Jones wasn't gay and Danny wasn't gay and as far as he knew most of Moffatt's associates weren't gay. In fact, the only one who liked men was him, and that should have told him something much earlier. Of _course _he'd wanted it. Why would he ever think he _hadn't _wanted it?

"_Exactly," Moffatt nodded. "You want it. It's just like I've told you all along. You're a slut who needs to be fucked and if you'd just admitted that a long time ago, things would have been easier. Everyone's always told you you're too stubborn. Danny, Saul, Reuben, Livingston...all your friends have thought it at some point, you know. You should have just surrendered to me in the first place. They'd all agree. This is what you want and this is what you need and this is the only way you're going to get back to Danny. Now tell them you want to suck them!"_

"I...I want to suck you," he said, stumbling over the words, and his fingernails dug deep into his palms. Right...right, he liked the pain, didn't he?

"Yeah, well, I still don't know," Ray said slowly. "I mean, I get you, but you heard all the stuff he was saying in there. You honestly want _that _anywhere near your dick?"

They both looked at him for a long time.

He smiled sweetly and licked his lips.

* * *

Another ten minutes of agony while he waited at the front desk, and he was dimly aware of the cops and the receptionist gathered in a huddle, staring darkly at him, whispering and laughing. He clutched his watch tightly in his hand, his thumb tracing over the face.

Finally, he saw Rusty and for a second he felt all the relief and joy and love that he could expect. Only for a second.

The way Rusty was walking...a noticeable sway to his hips that set Danny's teeth on edge.

There were two cops with Rusty, walking just in front of him, and they were staring straight ahead of them, pointedly paying no attention to Rusty at all and there was something there that made him more than uneasy.

"See you later," Rusty said as they walked off, the soft flirt rippling through his voice. They didn't even look around.

This was all just an act. It had to be an act. Rusty had made up this story about all this being some kind of sex game and he was playing the part to go along with it and it was agony but it wasn't _real_.

And then Rusty looked over at him and smiled and Danny felt his heart break.

Rusty wasn't smiling at him the way that Rusty smiled at him. This smile was flirtatious and enticing and had nothing of Rusty in it. "Hi, Danny," Rusty said, as he walked up to him, and the breathiness of his voice made Danny flinch. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Danny said with agonised honesty, and the truth was he was still missing Rusty. And he could see the glazed look in Rusty's eyes...all too familiar from all the other times that Rusty had lost track of where and when and _who _they were. Rusty might be standing in front of him but, truth was, Rusty's soul was nowhere to be seen.

The sheriff cleared his throat behind them. "None of that lovely dovey shit. Remember, I want you fuckers out of town, before nightfall."

"Of course," he said clearly, all the agony well hidden, from the cops and from notRusty and he wanted Rusty back. _His _Rusty. "Come on, Rusty," he said, heading to the door his eyes fixed on anything but Rusty.

They got a cab back to the hotel and they didn't say a word for the journey. Danny didn't dare. He didn't know what would happen when this spell was broken. He didn't want to try and bring Rusty back to himself until he knew they were safe. Until they were someplace where he could keep Rusty safe from Rusty.

The car was still in the parking lot where they'd left it. Danny was almost surprised. Somehow it seemed like it had been four years since this morning.

He looked at Rusty for a long moment. He didn't want to take Rusty in with him. Didn't want Rusty exposed to the inevitable looks. But he couldn't let Rusty out of his sight.

"Rus'?" he said softly, and Rusty looked up at him with that same damned smile.

"Yes, Danny?" he purred.

Danny closed his eyes briefly. This act-that-wasn't-an act was killing him. "We need to go inside and take care of things. Let me do the talking. Please. You just keep your mouth shut." He was giving Rusty orders. But he _had _to.

"Okay," Rusty agreed like it didn't matter. (_It was so hard to meet Rusty's eyes when there was nothing looking back._)

Seemed like the hotel staff had seen them coming. They were all gathered around the reception desk, looking worried and threatening.

"We don't want any trouble," the manager warned as soon as Danny stepped through the door.

"Neither do we," Danny said reassuringly. "We just want to settle up what we owe you and get our stuff." And he wasn't even that bothered about their stuff. But the cops had their real names and it seemed that doing exactly what they were told was the best plan.

"Well...okay," the manager said slowly. "Right. We cleared out your stuff." He nodded to their suitcases thrown haphazardly down beside the desk. "That'll be three hundred dollars."

Seemed more than it should be, even for the damages. Not that it mattered. He stepped towards the counter, reaching into his jacket for his wallet and the manager stepped back fearfully. Danny stopped, face carefully blank, and he pulled out a credit card and proffered it.

"Fucking fruitcake," the bellhop muttered, leaning over him menacingly.

"There's no need for that," Rusty said softly, stepping forwards, favouring the bellhop with a small _intimate _smile and laying a lingering hand on the his arm and the bellhop immediately shoved Rusty's arm away, violent and disgusted.

"Rus'!" Danny glared at the bellhop and carefully moved between him and Rusty forcing himself not to react with difficulty. (_And, oh, God, Rus' had touched the guy, Rusty had actually reached out and touched the guy and he'd smiled like he was _offering.) He frowned back at the manager. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

The manager nodded shakily and a second later Danny was signing his name, grabbing their cases and ushering Rusty out of the door. Oh, he wanted to get them out of this damned town

"I'll drive," he said quietly as they approached the car. "You just...try and get some rest, huh?" He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at the dried blood on Rusty's clothes. "Are you in pain?"

That fucking smile. "I don't mind," Rusty assured him. "I don't mind at all."

Danny shivered and he could feel the utter desolation threatening to overwhelm him.

He drove. No particular direction in mind, he just drove. There was silence in the car. Rusty didn't feel like talking or didn't have anything to say or was too busy living somewhere else, and there was nothing Danny _could _say. The only words in his head were '_I'm sorry'_ and '_How could you?' _and he didn't think Rusty was there to understand.

This was another nightmare Rusty was trapped in. And as long as Danny was patient and let Rusty know he was safe, Rusty would come back to him. He _had _to. Because Danny didn't think he could bear this for very long.

The next town was too obvious. Too big a chance that someone would have passed on their names and descriptions. Issued some warning. He kept driving. Three, four hours and it was late afternoon when he finally found a place that he was prepared to believe was safe.

"We're here," he said unnecessarily and cheerfully, and he didn't even know where _here _was.

"Okay," Rusty said agreeably, (_submissively) _following Danny up to the hotel.

They got a whole bunch of suspicious looks. Bruises and bloodstained clothes tended to do that. But it wasn't like _that _had never happened before, and money seemed to make the suspicion melt right away, and before long they had a key to the room furthest from other guests and a promise that they wouldn't be disturbed.

He carefully locked the door behind them. "Sit down, will you?" he asked, awkwardly gesturing towards the sofa.

"You want me on the couch?" Rusty asked with a suggestive tone that was just _wrong. _Oh, not simply wrong in the way that made Danny's soul crawl, it _sounded _wrong. Mechanical. Like lines being spoken by an actor who'd read about flirting but had never had a sexual thought in his life.

He didn't respond. Instead he looked round the room slowly.

Okay.

The door was locked, that was one thing. The windows...always going to be a problem. They didn't look like they opened wide enough for a person to get through, but glass could break. God, he knew glass could break. He drew the curtains. Out of sight, out of mind. He hoped, anyway. He couldn't do anything to stop the sunlight from filtering through, and if things got really bad, that might just be enough.

He had to keep Rusty here. He had to keep Rusty safe and contained and he told himself that he wasn't keeping Rusty trapped.

Glasses out the minibar. Corkscrew. All the bottled beer and the little glass miniatures. The glass ashtray. He bundled it all together and dumped it in the wastepaper basket.

What else? He looked around critically. The pictures on the wall were canvas. No glass on them. Nothing sharp. They could stay. Lightbulbs. Lighbulbs could be smashed into the sharp and the lethal and he carefully reached up and unscrewed them one by one and dropped them into the basket. The mirror was built into an alcove. He couldn't remove it, but he wedged their suitcases in front of it, blocking it off from easy access...fuck! Cases. He'd forgotten.

Swearing silently, he dug through the cases, came up with razors and their little tools of the trade that normally were so useful but right now just seemed sharp.

They went into the basket too. He had to get rid of everything.

(_He was making the room suicide proof. He was actually standing in this room, looking round for everything that Rusty could use to hurt himself, knowing Rusty _would _and in his head, Rusty held the glass up to his throat and his hand swept sideways and the blood was warm on Danny's face.) _

That seemed to be everything. As quickly as he could, he opened the door, threw the wastepaper basket down the garbage chute opposite their room, and hurried back inside.

Rusty hadn't moved.

He'd done this before, of course, or something similar. Night before the Benedict job. But then Rusty had come to him for help. This morning Rusty had begged him to let him go. And now Rusty was just staring at him with vacant allure, spread over the sofa, soullessly provocative.

"We're safe now," Danny said quietly. "We're alone. I need you to snap out of this. Please."

"Snap out of what?" Rusty asked, playfully undoing the top couple of buttons of his shirt.

Danny shuddered. "_Stop. _Everything you told the cops. Everything about us being lovers and you wanting..." He swallowed hard. "Just stop it."

"That's not an act," Rusty said, a slight giggle in his voice "This is the real me. Don't you want to finish what we started this morning? I've been told I bleed very prettily."

"_No!" _Danny yelled, taking a step back in horror, and he _knew _what had happened this morning and he never wanted that, never, never, never.

Rusty pouted, his lower lip trembling. "Don't you like me anymore?"

For a long moment Danny had to fight down the urge to scream. He had to stay on top of this. He had to deal with his reactions and be calm and be what Rusty needed. "I like you. I always like you. But not like that. Rus', you're...not well. You're confused right now – "

" – I'm not confused about anything," Rusty interrupted, standing up slowly. "I'm a greedy little slut who only cares about getting _fucked." _

"That's not you talking," Danny snapped, fury at the words overwhelming him. "That's _Him._"

"Maybe," Rusty agreed. "But He's right about a lot of things, you know. He told me exactly what I was and exactly what I want – _need_ - and even when I was lying there, covered in my own come, I wasn't listening."

"That wasn't what you wanted!" Danny said, too loud and too desperate and still Rusty wasn't _listening _to him. (_And, in his head, the monster stood, looming over Rusty, his hand moving faster and faster and faster, and Rusty_ _was tied up and helpless and screaming for Danny, and the monster wouldn't stop and the monster was laughing and the monster _forced _Rusty, and there wasn't a single part of Rusty that the monster hadn't stolen.)_

Rusty smiled at him, obscene amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's not like prison was the first time, you know."

_What? _Danny stared, unable to even _try _to speak, and Rusty couldn't mean that, he _couldn't _because there was no way that Danny wouldn't have known. He would have known and he would have gone after those responsible like the fury of God.

(_And the ones he knew were responsible, the ones who had reduced Rusty to this _parody_, they were still walking around, still living their lives, and he had been _right _back then, he had been right, and he should have killed them, he should have killed them all, starting with Carson, and he should never have let _anything _stand in his way.)_

Rusty looked up at him through his eyelashes. "I've always loved having sex with men, Danny. You want to know how many times, before I ever went to jail, I've had my legs wrapped around some guy's waist, my hands gripping into his shoulders, submitting to him, begging him to go harder and faster?"

Danny didn't think that Rusty could even _hear _the terror and disgust in his own voice. And he didn't even know where to begin.

And the picture Rusty was painting of his own past...it wasn't even _right_. It wasn't even close to right and if Rusty's memories were as clouded as Rusty's mind was right now...Danny's heart was breaking and he wondered if this was new or if Rusty had been thinking this for a while.

"That's not what you're like, Rusty," he tried calmly. "That's not what happened. You're remembering everything wrong."

Rusty shook his head. "It's just like He always told me," he argued. "I wanted it before. Why wouldn't I want it then? Now? There's no difference."

"There's all the difference in the world," Danny said immediately, his voice shaking and if Rusty didn't know who he _was, _Danny didn't know what he was supposed to _do._

"He told me," Rusty said simply. "I want it."

"He's _wrong," _Danny snapped wildly. "Rus', he's always been wrong. You don't _want _it. It's not anything to do with sex and it sure as _fuck _isn't anything about who you are."

"Maybe He just knows me better than you do," Rusty said after a second, his smile soft and inscrutable. He stepped towards Danny slowly and Danny stared, not understanding, right up until the point when Rusty's hand trailed down the front of his pants, the caress firm and purposeful. "Maybe we can do something about that."

"No!" Danny shouted, shoving Rusty away hard, and the scream was echoing through his soul. "No!"

Rusty stumbled backwards, falling over the sofa and landing in a heap on the floor. He looked up at Danny with empty eyes. "I like it rough."

"No," Danny said weakly, backing away from Rusty, suffused with horror.

Rusty picked himself up slowly and Danny took another involuntary step back.

"You can hurt me if you like," Rusty told him, licking his lips. "I don't mind. You could hold me down, like you did this morning, hold me down and make me do whatever you want. Blood's a pretty good lubricant, you know. Got taught that with a length of iron piping. Or you could tie me up. He always likes tying me up. Don't you _want_ to fuck me, Danny?"

Danny couldn't stop the words falling out of Rusty's mouth.

"We can do anything you want, you know," Rusty promised earnestly. "Any position you like. You want me on top? He used to like that. He'd ties a rope round my neck and sit down on a chair and have a couple of his friends push me down onto his lap. And then I'd try and get away...and then I'd _pretend _to try and get away. He likes the way I squirm and struggle. He says it makes me feel good on him. Do you want to try that? You must want to feel me clench around your cock, right Danny?"

He couldn't stop the pictures from forming in his head.

"Are you worried about someone hearing?" Rusty checked, his eyes fixed on Danny's, his head cocked to one side. "They won't, you know. I can be quiet no matter what you do. You don't need to worry about me screaming out your name and embarrassing you or anything. I don't ever do that. I don't even make a noise," he added with obscene pride. "One time I was grabbed in the showers and he pulled me into the cleaning closet and the guards didn't even notice. And he fucked me there on the floor and he forced a mop handle across my throat so I couldn't breathe..." He frowned thoughtfully. "It's funny. A couple of years later, _He_ used the same mop on me. I remembered the crack in the handle. But He drove it up inside me and made me crawl across the floor to suck the others' cocks."

He heard every word Rusty was saying, and he couldn't speak, and all he could do was stare.

"Anyway," Rusty continued brightly. "That first time, I didn't make a sound. Not even when he was finished and he found this bottle of bleach, and used it to clean me. It burned like you wouldn't believe but I didn't scream. Bit right through my lip though. I've still got the scar, look!" He stuck his lower lip out to show Danny. The scar was barely visible. _That _scar was barely visible. "But if I can keep quiet through that, I'm sure we've got nothing to worry about. You can do that too, if you like. If I'm too dirty for you. I've learned the truth since then. I won't struggle, unless you want me to."

He couldn't stop _shaking. _

"I'm a good fuck, Danny," Rusty promised, his smile bright and sincere. "You can do anything you like to me and I'll love every minute of it. I want you inside me. I _need _you. You _know _I need you."

He tried to speak up, tried to say something that would make it all better, but he couldn't form words and all that came out was a over-loud, ragged sob.

God. He couldn't do this now. He didn't have _time _to fall apart now. Rusty did need him. Rusty might not understand it, but Rusty needed him and he turned away as he fought desperately for the self control he needed.

But the misery was burning through him and he couldn't stop the sobs.

* * *

Imaginary Moffatt was looking after him. Had been for some time. Whispering in Rusty's ear, his words winding their way through his soul. Soft and reassuring and cloying.

"_You wanted it. You always wanted it. There's nothing wrong and no one can hurt you because you _want _it." _

He didn't know where they were and he didn't know what was going on, but every smile, every look, every second of seduction pleased Moffatt.

"_That's right. You're showing your true colours. Worthless, pathetic slut."_

For a time this was all there was and it was simple. He was just being what Moffatt told him he was. What he'd always been deep down. And when pain and degradation and shame were to be embraced, not fought, everything was so much _simpler._

Except that Danny was crying.

Long ago, and frantic hands grabbing his shoulders, a hushed voice begging him not to die, hot tears splashing onto his face and he'd _known _he had to say something...

...later and heartbreak and whisky and ice cream, and Danny hadn't hidden the tears from him, and he'd held Danny close, just for a little while...

...a tunnel and darkness and pain and fear and memory and he'd wiped the tears away and promised Danny he was safe and told him stories until it was true...

He'd been there. He'd always been there. He was supposed to...supposed to do something. _Be _something.

And now, right now, Danny was crying and Danny wouldn't even look at him.

"_You haven't pleased him. You know how to please a man, don't you? You always pleased me."_

He hadn't pleased Danny. He'd made Danny cry.

He'd made Danny _cry._

"_You want it," Moffatt insisted frantically. "You're only good for one thing and you know it. Remember waking up this morning? Remember feeling good? You can't hide from that. This is all you're good for and all you want and if you aren't good for that you might as well just die. You're a pathetic, filthy slut and the world would be better off without you. Why don't you just _die?"

Moffatt was demanding. But Danny was crying.

It was a straightforward choice. Fight or surrender.

He'd surrendered before. He'd listened to Danny, let Danny save him and that had been the right choice.

This time around it wasn't Danny he was listening to.

Without conscious thought, Rusty shoved the voice and the feelings and the self-hatred as far away as possible.

He didn't want them anymore.

He didn't want _Moffatt _anymore.

Danny was crying and he wanted to do something about that.

* * *

"Danny?" The voice was soft and immediately behind him, and Danny wasn't ready yet, hadn't managed to control himself yet. He was weak and pathetic and the misery was still shuddering through him. And then the hand on his shoulder and, shamefully, he flinched away. Couldn't face it again.

He scrubbed at his eyes hurriedly. "I don't want – "

" – I'm not offering," Rusty said quickly.

_Rusty _said.

Danny spun round quickly, hardly daring to hope, and Rusty was standing right behind him, looking at him, concern in his eyes, worry and confusion and misery, but it was _Rusty_, Rusty looking at him, nothing like what had been before.

"Easy," Rusty murmured, sounding almost confused, as Danny reached out and grabbed Rusty's hand, holding it tight, and he wanted to take Rusty into his arms, but he didn't quite dare, and it was such a relief when Rusty stepped closer, the embrace fierce and comforting. "I'm here, Danny, I'm here."

He took comfort in Rusty holding him – he _needed _Rusty holding him – and he didn't know if the sobs shuddering through him were relief or reaction, but right now all that mattered was holding on and never letting go.

Maybe they could stay like this forever. Maybe that would be all right.

"Danny?" Rusty said tentatively, after an age had passed. "I don't...what's happened? Where are we?"

He took a shaky step back and studied Rusty carefully. There was confusion in Rusty's eyes, confusion and fear and concern for _him._

Rusty obviously remembered very little. _(And maybe that was the best thing for both of them.)_

"We had a bad day," he said slowly, already knowing it wouldn't be enough. "A really bad day."

Rusty frowned and looked round the hotel room, his eyes lingering on the bare light fittings, on the cases blocking the mirror, on the cleaned out mini bar. "But what _happened?_" he asked again, and now he was looking at Danny, his eyes fixed on Danny's face, and instinctively Danny half turned away, trying to hide the bruises. "What did I do?" Rusty asked in a whisper.

"It wasn't you," Danny said, and that was at least partly true. It hadn't only been Rusty, and even the parts that _had _been Rusty hadn't exactly been _Rusty. _

Bewildered, Rusty shook his head. "I don't...we were on the road, heading out of Albuquerque," he said. "We stopped at a motel last night – last night?"

Mutely, Danny nodded.

Eyes screwed shut, Rusty continued, tracing memory. "We were talking about maybe heading to Vegas, stopping by Reuben's. We watched some TV and went to bed. And then...and _then..._"

Rusty stopped.

The colour drained from his face.

His eyes were somewhere far away and wide with horror.

It didn't matter that the scream was silent; Danny could still hear it.

Rusty ran, and this time Danny was prepared, expecting it even, and he reached the bathroom a fraction of a second after Rusty, ready to grab, to restrain, to start this whole nightmare all over again if necessary. But in the end, all he could do was watch helplessly as Rusty collapsed painfully to his knees in front of the toilet and started retching like he was never going to stop.

He took a step further into the bathroom, reaching out, ready to offer comfort and support, reassure Rusty that it was over now, that they were safe now.

"Don't!" Rusty managed to gasp out between heaves. "Please, Danny."

It went against all his instincts but he hung back, satisfied at least that if he had to he could reach Rusty, could stop him if he tried to hurt himself again, and Rusty's hands were clenched flat against the floor, his knuckles white, his arms trembling with strain.

"Rus', it's okay," he murmured softly. "It's going to be okay, I swear it."

At long last, Rusty sat up, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth before turning to stare up at Danny, his eyes dulled with misery. "I'm sorry, Danny. I'm so fucking sorry."

With a sigh, Danny settled himself down, sitting on the floor, his back against the door. "You remember?"

"Not...really," Rusty said hesitantly. "Not everything. Just...bits and pieces. Flashes." He closed his eyes for a long moment and his face was chalk white. "I remember waking up. Remember feeling..._good._" He spat the word out, like it burned him, like it was the worst thing he could imagine.

It hurt Danny to hear it. And he could hear the bitter self-hatred and it frightened him.

He wanted Rusty safe.

* * *

Shaking his head, shoving the memory and the disgust away, Rusty opened his eyes and gazed anxiously at Danny. He could see the fear that Danny was feeling. Fear for him. Fear for what he'd done and what he was going to do.

And that was understandable. He looked down at the dried blood on his shirt and pants. The cuts hurt like hell. More scars. He was damned lucky he hadn't caught an artery.

"I'm sorry," he said to Danny again, and they both knew what he was apologising for this time. They both knew this hurt Danny far more than any bruises. He swallowed and looked back up at Danny, trying to project as much openness and reassurance as he could, trying to show that he didn't have any plans. "I don't even remember," he confessed. "Not really. I just remember – "

_( - He was sick and dirty and wrong and pathetic with every second he was alive he was proving Moffatt right, everything that Moffatt had said was true, and he had to make it stop, he just wanted it to stop, he didn't want to _feel _anymore, and there was blood and there was pain and it still wasn't enough - )_

" – I wanted it to stop," he finished in a whisper, his eyes on Danny's. "I broke my promise. I'm so sorry, Danny." He'd promised Danny he'd keep himself safe. Just like he'd promised Saul.

A second and Danny reached out and laid a hand on Rusty's foot. The closest part of him, and Rusty remembered Danny flinching earlier and maybe right now, for once, both of them appreciated the distance. "We knew you might not be able to keep it," Danny told him gently.

He should have. He shouldn't have let things get to him like that. "You stopped me," he said, and it was a guess that wasn't a guess. "You dragged me out of there. And I hurt you." He forced himself to look at Danny's face. To really look. To see the layers of bruises, the cut lip, the gash on Danny's forehead. The horror whispered inside him. "I did that. I hurt you." He'd hurt Danny like he had before, punching and hitting and hurting and hating, and Danny shouldn't have to live with this. With him. He was a monster.

A momentary look on Danny's face. Just a flash but he narrowed his eyes. Danny was trying to keep something from him. "What?"

Danny sighed. "You didn't do all of that," he admitted reluctantly.

He hadn't...someone had hurt Danny? Someone had hit Danny? His mouth set. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice a growl.

Danny looked away. "When I got you out the bathroom, I guess we were making too much noise. The manager came into the room. I was...holding you down. You were naked. There was...there was blood. A lot of blood."

Oh. He remembered that. He'd almost thought it had been a nightmare. He could still feel Danny's hands gripping his arms. Still feel Danny's knees pinning down his legs. Still hear his own voice begging Danny. Oh, God.

Danny still wasn't looking at him, and Rusty scrambled forwards, to hell with personal space, and his hand was on Danny's cheek, gently bringing Danny round to face him.

Danny's eyes were haunted. Hunted.

Rusty could apologise from now until the end of time and he still didn't think it would be enough. Not nearly.

But Danny didn't _want _the apology, and he shuffled forwards, wrapping his arms around Danny, folding them together as close as he could.

Danny reached out towards him, leaning into the embrace, his head tucked against Rusty's shoulder.

They didn't speak for the longest of times. There was nothing to say.

At least they were together now.

But he still needed his question answered. "Who else hurt you, Danny?" he asked eventually.

Danny squeezed his eyes shut momentarily and sat back up. Rusty obligingly moved apart. "Can't you just leave it? It honestly doesn't matter."

It mattered. Of course it mattered. He couldn't bear the fact that he'd hurt Danny. He couldn't bear the fact that someone else had either. Didn't matter why or how often, he never wanted to see Danny hurt. "It matters," he reminded Danny softly.

For a long moment Danny just stared at him, his eyes closed off. Then he nodded. "The manager made some assumptions," he said finally, reluctantly. "Understandable assumptions. The cops showed up as we were leaving. They...arrested me."

They'd arrested Danny. They'd arrested Danny and now Danny was covered in bruises and Rusty remembered how he'd felt four years ago, in that room with Carson beating him, and he imagined Danny in his place, imagined Danny kneeling and helpless and his fists were clenched tightly. He...Danny _mustn't _be arrested. Not ever. He knew where that led. "They _hurt _you?"

"No!" Danny denied instantly, his eyes fixed on Rusty's, reassuring, promising. "Not like you're thinking. They just tackled me. Knocked me down. They wanted to get me away from you." He looked away. "If I'd done what they thought I had, they'd have been right to."

"But you _didn't,_" Rusty pointed out, and it didn't matter what Danny said, he was still furious. With himself first of all, and then the cops and...he looked hard at Danny. "What else?"

Danny grimaced. "They dragged me away from you. Stuck me in a cell. I went a bit crazy. There was this biker gang...they knew what I'd done – what I was _supposed _to have done." He gave a half-grin. "Let's just say they weren't impressed."

Rusty thought that maybe his heart had stopped beating. He knew – firsthand – what could happen. Knew about violence and opportunity and the type of men who would pounce at the first sign of vulnerability. And if they'd thought Danny was gay, Danny would be an even more obvious target, and more than that, Danny had lost Rusty, would have been distraught, frantic. "Did they..." He couldn't make himself form the question. "Danny, did they – "

" – no," Danny assured him quickly. "Nothing like that. They were in the next cell. But they wouldn't shut up, and I lost it a couple of times."

Yeah. He could imagine that. Danny locked up and pacing round the cell, anxious and terrified, forced to listen to endless taunts and catcalls from the next cell, consumed with fear for Rusty, unravelling a little more as every moment passed.

He shivered. "And they hit you," he said dully.

Danny shrugged. "And I hit them. And eventually the cops came and got me and told me what you'd said."

Oh. He looked away quickly. "Yeah."

"They told me what you'd said," Danny repeated with no particular emphasis.

He remembered. God, he remembered. He just wished he didn't. "I couldn't see another way out of it," he explained and his voice was barely a whisper and he pulled his knees up to his chest, moving further away from Danny, back into the gap between the bath and the sink. "I didn't know what happened, but they said you'd hurt me and they were going to keep me away from you."

"So you told them you'd wanted it," Danny said hollowly.

"No," he disagreed. That would have been easy and that wouldn't have worked. "I couldn't have made them believe it. Couldn't have been convincing." He hesitated and he didn't want to share this, he never wanted to share...but Danny deserved the truth. Danny deserved to understand as much as he could. "I had to make myself _believe _that I wanted it."

Danny stared at him, horror written openly on his face.

"_He _was always telling me that I wanted it," he said studying his fingers. "That deep down I love it. That He only does the things He does for my sake. To make me _happy._"

Danny was sitting next to him now, and he took Rusty's hand in his. "Nothing He did to you was about _you,_ Rus'. He hurt you."

"Sometimes he takes it slow," Rusty said quietly, not looking at Danny for a second. "He kisses me. Strokes my hair. Takes his time and prepares me gently, like I'm...He touches me and He tells me I'm beautiful and..." He choked back the tears. He wasn't going to cry. "He made me come."

It was a whispered admission. He could barely hear his own voice. And Danny gripped his hand all the tighter.

"You told me," Danny said, his voice soft and agonised and he didn't remember. "It's _not_ your fault, Rus'. He forced you, just the same as He forced you to do everything else."

It shouldn't have been such a relief to hear that this didn't change anything for Danny. But it was. It really, truly was. Maybe some part of him had still wondered whether Danny would hear that and would think he must have wanted all of it. Would have made Moffatt's truth real. But there was no less love in Danny's eyes than there ever had been. Love and pain and grief and strength, and he'd made Danny cry again.

"Only happened the once," he said, like that somehow made it all better. "After that...after that I couldn't anymore. Not that that stopped Him trying. But I couldn't get it up." He licked his lips. "I preferred it that way," he admitted. "I don't want to feel..._that..._anymore. Not ever again." As far as he was concerned, that part of his life was over.

Danny's gaze was all things compassionate. And there wasn't even a hint of pity. "You don't have to," he said simply. "It's okay not to want to, Rus'. And if, somewhere way down the line, you meet someone who you want to go further with...that's okay too."

He couldn't imagine that was going to happen. Just the _thought _of sex...he thought it was always going to be about Moffatt now. That cop in Amsterdam...he couldn't even _imagine _wanting what she'd wanted. Couldn't imagine going to bed and touching and kissing and _fucking _and _liking _it. All he felt at the thought was fear and panic and disgust. No, he didn't want that. Not ever again.

"This morning," he began hesitantly. "I wasn't expecting...I wasn't _prepared._ If – _that _– happens again," And Danny's eyes were fixed on him, worrying, searching. "I don't think...I _know _I won't react the same way."

He mustn't react the same way. Because this, here... he had to understand, when he hurt himself he wasn't just hurting _himself_.

Danny was still looking at him and he knew that whatever he said it would be a while before Danny was anywhere near comfortable letting him out of his sight. And that was alright. That was something he could live with.

"You're never going to see _Him_ again you know," Danny said quietly, out of nowhere, and he spat the pronoun like it was a four letter word.

_What?_ Rusty blinked.

"You're not going to see him again," Danny repeated. "You always talk about him like he's here. He isn't, Rus'. He isn't going to hurt you again."

He was never going to see Moffatt again.

Somehow, he'd never actually thought of it that way.

He was never going to have to live from moment to moment, looking over his shoulder, waiting to hear that voice. He was never going to wake up on his own, aching and sticky and dreaming of death. He was never going to feel Moffatt's hands on him again, never going to have to hide from his kisses, never going to feel him moving inside him.

Moffatt was gone and Rusty was free.

It was almost more than he knew how to deal with.

* * *

He watched Rusty for a long moment, eyes distant and unfocused, and he didn't feel compelled to interfere. It wasn't a memory Rusty was lost in this time.

It had been such a long day. Such a nightmare of a day, and Danny hadn't felt this exhausted for a while now.

After a time, Rusty looked at him again and smiled briefly, the distance between them disappearing, and Rusty looked even more tired than Danny felt.

The smile faded almost instantly. "He was with me at the hospital," Rusty said, a guilty admission and Danny stopped breathing.

"What?" he demanded incredulously and that wasn't possible, that really couldn't be possible.

"Not literally," Rusty clarified. "I told you, he always said I wanted it." He grimaced. "I listened."

Danny listened.

"I just imagined everything he'd say," Rusty went on. "Filled in his half of the conversation. Used him to anchor myself around."

Memories of a hundred occasions when he'd imagined Rusty's thoughts to measure a situation filled Danny's mind. "Like – "

" – exactly like," Rusty nodded, guilty and subdued.

God.

Funny. Once upon a time, back during the Benedict job, before he'd even known anything more than the bare truth of the matter, the unspeakable word, Danny thought that he hated the _Him _just as much as it was possible for one man to hate another. He knew better now. Because he hated him so much more. Much more than could ever be possible.

"I had to make them believe," Rusty said defensively. "It was the only way I could think that they'd let us both walk free."

Maybe it was the only way they'd both be free. That didn't make it any easier to bear. He squeezed Rusty's hand reassuringly.

"I had to make them believe," Rusty said again, and it was almost like he was talking to himself. "But then it all got so out of control. It was like I was watching outside myself. And in the car with the cops – " He trailed off hurriedly, like he hadn't meant to say anything.

Danny felt the slow burn of fury deep inside. He remembered Rusty walking into the police station. Remembered the cops who'd hurried away, the ones who wouldn't even look at Rusty. Furtive. Ashamed. "What did they do?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" Rusty claimed insistently.

He narrowed his eyes and tried to suppress the anger, just a little. "Rus', please. What did they do?"

Rusty sighed and sat up straight, his hands pulling through his hair. "I'd been...I'd been hitting on them all through the medical exam and the interview. I needed them to see me as a slu...as someone who wanted sex and liked it rough. And I guess I took it too far. They pulled the car over and one of them suggested that since I'd got them hot and bothered – "

Danny was on his feet in an instant, his fists clenched, and he was striding towards the door, and he was going to go back there and he was going to fucking _kill _them.

"Danny!" Rusty grabbed hold of his arm, on his feet and a step behind him. "Danny, it didn't happen."

There was the ring of truth in Rusty's voice and Danny half-turned to face him.

"They changed their minds," Rusty told him softly. "The older one, he thought getting his dick sucked by a man was really _gay. _And he half convinced the younger one and then they were talking about all the diseases I might have, and the younger one wasn't brave enough to just go for it himself, so in the end we just drove off."

There was something more here, and Danny carried on searching Rusty's face.

Rusty bit his lip. "_I _didn't say no, Danny," he said heavily. "I told them I wanted to. And if they hadn't backed out..."

Danny could picture the scene. Danny couldn't _stop _picturing the scene. Rusty, helpless to prevent the cops taking advantage of him. Convincing himself that he wanted to. Convincing himself that he _liked _it, and all the time that blank, terrified look was in Rusty's eyes.

"And I was listening to Him," Rusty continued. "Telling me that I wanted it."

"You don't want it," Danny reminded him quickly. "Itisn't anything about who you are."

Rusty blinked and frowned at him for a long moment. "You said that before," he said, puzzled. "I don't..." His eyes shot open wide.

Danny winced at the memory. Rusty offering himself. Insistently. Rusty's voice. (_Maybe you don't know me as well as Him. Maybe we can do something about that.) _Rusty's hand touching him.

He didn't think he'd ever forget. He just wished Rusty didn't remember.

* * *

Rusty remembered. With a feeling of numb horror, Rusty remembered. God. He'd tried to...he'd tried... No wonder Danny had flinched away from him.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly. "I'm so sorry, Danny."

Felt like he'd never get done apologising.

"'s okay," Danny said with a half shrug.

"It _isn't_," he insisted fiercely. Nothing about this was nearly close to okay and he remembered how he'd looked at Danny, remembered how he'd talked to Danny, like Danny would want to fuck him, like Danny would want to _hurt _him, remembered the stories he'd shared, forcing Danny to see himself in Felding and Moffatt's place. He leaned forwards and clasped Danny's hand tightly. "You know I know you wouldn't," he told Danny, his voice soft and intent.

"Sure, Rus'," Danny agreed with a tired smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Rusty blinked. "You don't believe me?"

The smile turned gentle. A helpless shrug and Danny sighed. "I know you _think _you know I wouldn't."

Rusty let go of Danny's hands.

This was what happened.

This was what happened because he'd been weak and careless and he'd let the little Moffatt voice crawl inside his soul, let _Moffatt _decide what he was and what he deserved. Let it – _him _– rule how he felt and what he said and who he _was._ Let Moffatt corrupt him until Danny – _Danny, _the one constant in his life, his partner, his best friend, his other half, his _everything _ - became just another threat.

No more.

Moffatt had raped him and Rusty hadn't been able to stop the violation of his body. But he wasn't going to let Moffatt live inside his head anymore. Not without a fight.

Danny was right. Moffatt was gone and it was long past time he started believing that.

He laid his hand on Danny's cheek again and his eyes met Danny's as if for the first time. "You never would," he said fiercely, emphatically, and Danny gazed at him for a long moment, and before Rusty had even _thought _about it, he leaned forwards and crushed his lips to Danny's, only for the briefest of seconds, only for the briefest explosion of loveyoursforever.

It wasn't about sex. The very last thing it was about was sex.

And then he was leaning against Danny, their foreheads touching, and just at this moment, everything felt –

" – right," Danny agreed, wonderingly.

"Louis," Rusty commented with a grin.

_What a wonderful world._

* * *

They stayed still for a long time, contentment in silence. And Danny wasn't quite sure _exactly _what had changed, but something had. Somehow, after this nightmare, after this worst of days, somehow something inside Rusty seemed a little closer to healed than it had been yesterday.

Danny wasn't one to question miracles. He just grasped them with both hands and held tight in case he lost them forever.

"I need a bath," Rusty said, after an age had passed. "Feel disgusting."

He was already standing up, and Danny saw the pain and the awkward.

"Did they give you anything?" he asked, and it was partly about the need for Rusty to be out of pain, and partly because he sure as hell wasn't comfortable with Rusty having access to any pills right now.

Rusty just shook his head.

Danny nodded. Some time soon he figured they'd have to see Stan again.

In the meantime he glanced around the bathroom, his gaze lingering unhappily on the mirror, on the glass screen, on the electric hairdryer.

Yes, right now Rusty seemed calm and settled and safe and better even than he had been before. But this morning was no distance at all, and Danny wasn't going to let his feelings overrule his common sense. Not when the stakes were so high.

The mirror and the glass screen. Well, he could –

" – or you could stay," Rusty interrupted lightly.

Danny turned his head very, very slowly. Up till now, Rusty hadn't been anywhere _near _comfortable enough for that. "Or I could stay," he agreed, in a tone that meant 'Are you _sure?'_

Rusty looked at him for a long moment. "I told you once," he began. "If I don't trust you, I might as well be dead already." The smile was bright and brilliant and warm like Danny couldn't believe. "I'm sick of dying. Thought I'd try living for a change."

Get busy living or get busy dying.

Danny thought that Rusty had finally made his choice.


	14. Six months after

**A/N: Long chapter that didn't want to be split. *shrug* Sorry.**

* * *

Sometimes marks just walked up to you, smiled and begged you to take them for everything they had. In Danny's opinion, to do anything less would be positively rude.

Lewis Hutton came to his attention when he elbowed Danny aside to cut into the line at Starbucks. Coming in between Danny and his desire for a double espresso was unwise. Talking loudly on his cellphone about the Ferrari he was having specially imported, and the money he was raking in under the table was foolish. Tutting loudly and calling the barista a stupid little girl when she asked him to repeat his order was unpleasant and unnecessary. And picking up the cup of pink and white liquid sugar Danny had ordered to take back for Rusty was downright dangerous.

Danny smiled brightly at the mark-who-had-no-idea-how-much-trouble-he-was-in. "Excuse me," he said with a gracious smile. "I rather think that's mine."

"Really?" He glanced down at the drink. "One sees people drinking these things and I suppose I was always curious as to the appeal."

Honestly, Danny didn't understand the appeal himself. That didn't mean he was okay with it being stolen. He smiled and looked at the girl behind the counter. "Can I get another of these for my friend here?" he asked, holding out a fifty. "And don't bother about the change."

The drink-thief was looking mildly intrigued by this display of careless wealth.

"I always say a man should indulge his curiosity," Danny explained, turning back to him as they waited for the new drink to be made. "It pays to be adventurous, don't you find?" He hoped the answer was yes. Cautious marks were always much more difficult to work with.

"I quite agree," the mark nodded intently. "Still, this is very kind of you." His eyes roamed over Danny, in what he probably figured was a subtle way, taking in his suit, his shoes, his watch. Danny let him look. Not like he made a habit of displaying it, but there should be enough subtle wealth to keep him interested.

"It's the least I can do for a fellow Ferrari owner," Danny smiled, looking pointedly at the car keys in the mark's hand. "Curtis Lane." He held out a hand expectantly.

"Lewis Hutton," the mark declared, gripping his hand just hard enough to turn a handshake into a competition. "Good to meet you. So you have a Ferrari?"

"Yes, but sadly there's not much opportunity to really drive her around here," he said regretfully, and he should probably steer the conversation away from cars. Apart from anything else, it was unlikely to take him where he wanted to go. "So what do you do?"

He listened intently as Lewis started talking, and it was really no problem at all to steer Lewis until they were sitting down together, talking like they'd known each other for _years._

* * *

It was about two hours after Rusty got back when Danny finally appeared. He might have been more worried, but he'd got a text from Danny. 'Something interesting. Back soon.' Actually, it had said 'Back seed' and he'd grinned and figured Danny had been writing it with his phone still in his pocket.

In other circumstances the delay might have had him on edge. Right now he was just glad that he could hide the evidence from his little shopping excursion so easily. He really didn't want to have to talk to Danny about this. Not that Danny wouldn't _understand_...just that he didn't want to have the conversation.

At any rate, he decided to trust the text for the moment, trust that Danny knew what he was doing, and he settled down in the living room to watch Star Trek reruns, mostly in the hope of seeing Shatner's toupee move.

He smiled when he heard the keycard in the lock and he was on his feet as Danny came in, promptly relieving him of the delicious-looking frappuccino. "Trying to apologise for being late?" he asked lightly.

"This is what made me late," Danny told him. "Our mark tried to steal it."

Huh. He took a long, appreciative sip. "I didn't know we had a mark."

"We do now," Danny told him grimly. "He tried to take your drink, so I bought him one of his own, and then I had to actually _drink _the first one to stop him getting suspicious." He shuddered. "How can you drink that stuff?"

"My body is adapted to survive on sugar alone," Rusty explained seriously. "So other than having good taste in drinks – "

" – Lewis Hutton," Danny began." He's rich, he's boring, he's a self-important, entitled bastard who thinks the world revolves around him."

Well that sounded more than enough to make him a good mark. He nodded understandingly. "So what's the plan?" he asked over his shoulder, as he put his drink down on the counter and poured Danny a fresh cup of coffee.

Danny smiled as he took it and they sat down, gazing at each other across the coffee table. "Lewis thinks of himself as a winter sports afficianado," he said. "Apparently he goes down to the mountains every month or so for some skiing. He's going this weekend."

"Okay," Rusty nodded, possibilities dancing through his head. That gave them a location and a way in. "So what – "

" – he was complaining about the number of people clogging up the slopes and hotels these days," Danny told him.

Ah. "You want to sell him – "

" – I want to sell him a mountain," Danny corrected.

Sounded like fun.

He grinned. "So you're – "

" – financial advisor," Danny told him.

"And I'm your client who happens to own a mountain," Rusty said thoughtfully.

Danny grinned. "Ski slope at the very least."

"You tell him – "

" – you're a rich idiot," Danny confirmed.

"Need to give a reason to sell," Rusty said, lips pursed.

"Messy divorce?" Danny suggested.

"Works," Rusty nodded. "Gives a reason – "

" – cash sale," Danny agreed.

They smiled at each other as the plan took shape and for the next few hours they talked specifics. Laying out everything that needed to be done. Pizza arrived and was eaten and details stacked on top of details and they were lost in concentration. By the time Rusty was convinced that they'd taken care of everything that could be taken care of today, it was after eleven at night.

"So what do you think?" Danny asked, leaning back in his chair lazily.

"You asking me if I think we can do it?" Rusty asked, smiling, and Danny laughed.

"You know it's your birthday in a couple of weeks," Danny said, changing the subject. "You thought about what you want to do?"

He paused and his tongue suddenly felt heavy and he concentrated on pouring himself a glass of wine. Really, he hadn't known. He'd shoved the memory of the date to the back of his head. Ignored the significance. "Haven't really thought," he said evenly.

Danny nodded. "Maybe I'll surprise you," he suggested.

His hand jerked involuntarily and the wine spilt onto the carpet. "Maybe you will," he said, looking up and smiling reassuringly at Danny before the frown had the opportunity to develop into a question. Danny's voice had been full of the fond and the delight and the anticipation and that was just everything Danny had always felt before. The momentary wrong reaction...these days he was on top of it, most of the time. It had been months since he was even _close _to getting lost. Months since the nightmares had been anything more than nightmares.

These days, most of the time, an outsider wouldn't be able to see any differences between the him he was now and the him he'd been before prison.

The anxiety was still in Danny's eyes but he accepted the quick shake of Rusty's head.

"So what _do _you think?" Danny asked instead. "You ready to do some skiing?"

* * *

Danny stared at the luggage carousel, willing it to move. He hated waiting for luggage. Not least because he'd had a couple of occasions where his bag just never showed. And most of the time he would just shrug and move on, but one time Tess' anniversary present had been in the bag and that had soured him to the whole process. Mostly he preferred to just take a holdall as hand luggage. Made everything quicker.

"Patience," Rusty murmured in his ear, amusement dancing in his voice.

Danny didn't look at him. "Look who's talking."

"I never mind waiting," Rusty said, with startling untruthfulness.

"If you hadn't insisted we haul the ski stuff from New York..." he complained sullenly. Wasn't like there was a shortage of places to get equipment round here.

Rusty just grinned. "You saying you'd rather be careless than wait a few – "

" – twenty – " Danny interjected bitterly.

" – minutes," Rusty finished. "Really, Danny?"

He sighed balefully. Of course Rusty had a point. They were supposed to be into skiing and while Lewis hadn't been on their flight they had no way of being sure that someone wouldn't know him, or someone in town wouldn't mention if they didn't have their equipment.

After all, back in Starbucks, he'd made it clear that they were both rich and into skiing.

"What a coincidence," he'd smiled, just after Lewis had divulged his weekend plans. "I might be heading down there myself. With a client, you know."

"Really?" Lewis had looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I'll see you there."

"Perhaps," Danny agreed. "Though hopefully I'll be busy. If I can get the...if I can get _my client _off the slopes long enough to talk business."

"See, that's why I only work for myself," Lewis told him. "Keeps me from having to deal with too many idiots."

By Danny's count, he still had to deal with at least _one._ But Lewis had clearly been intrigued by the thought of a rich idiot in his neighbourhood, and Danny had carefully seeded the conversation with other juicy hints, setting it up so that Lewis was desperately angling to get the name of such a valuable acquaintance. That was when Danny had left. Making things seem too easy was _always _a mistake.

But they'd spent the last few days making sure that they had identities that could stand up to any kind of scrutiny. Basics such as drivers licenses, wardrobes and business cards, were simple enough. But after looking into Lewis, they'd taken it one step further and Livingston had come through for them as always. Curtis Lane had a professional looking website with all the appropriate links, proclaiming him to be a renowned independent financial advisor, and a couple of archived news stories – one drink driving incident and a very messy divorce – indicated that Charlie Regent was indeed a rich idiot nonpareil.

The carousel started moving at last and cases started to appear. "_Finally,_" he said with feeling.

"Patience," a voice murmured in his ear. Not Rusty. He turned quickly and the red-head smiled impishly as she brushed intimately past him and grabbed a suitcase and a tripod from the conveyor before vanishing into the crowd.

Danny stared after her. Huh. That had been...surprising.

Rusty dropped Danny's case into his hand. "Come on," he said, sounding amused. "Let's go find some mountains."

* * *

The cabin was almost startlingly luxurious. Rusty had to admit being at least a little impressed, especially when he checked the fridge and found it well-stocked with basic groceries, wine and chocolate. Well _that _was good. Too bad they were working, this seemed like it would be a good place to spend some downtime.

Danny looked over from browsing through the channels on the home cinema system and grinned his agreement.

Still. They _were _working and that meant they had to get on.

The probability was that they'd need to meet with Lewis in here at some point, so first thing was they needed to dress the room. Just in case of unexpected visits. There had to be no doubt that Charlie Regent actually owned this place.

Of course, equally important was Charlie Regent being recognised around the resort.

He pulled the box of knick knacks out of his case and handed them to Danny. Have fun decorating," he said with a smile.

"Have fun making friends," Danny retorted, and he laughed and left.

For the rest of the afternoon he was wandering around the resort, seeing and being seen, learning the layout perfectly, learning the names of everyone he could find, making sure that as many of them as possible knew Charlie's name and, with a word of persuasion here, a blatant lie there, and a couple of well-placed hefty bribes, he amassed a collection of people ready to swear blind that Charlie had been coming here sporadically for at least five years. Could come in handy.

That done, he tracked down the hotel and cabin where Lewis would be staying, found the staff who attended to him, and started asking questions, flashing charm and money, buying drinks - whatever got people on side.

Wasn't that difficult. Seemed Lewis had _not _been making himself popular. Apparently he'd gotten three people fired in the last four years, for crimes ranging from calling him a pretentious asshole, to putting red wine in the chiller.

After about two hours he had built up a picture of Lewis' likely movements. And he'd identified the most disgruntled of the disgruntled employees. Her name was Toni and he let her draw him into a more private conversation. He expressed a little sympathy, bought a few more drinks, talked a little about karma and threw in a slightly more material reward, and soon he had her word that she'd text him when Lewis arrived, and text him again with all his subsequent movements.

"Two hundred dollars a text," he promised with a smile. "And here's a thousand up front."

"Mmm." She looked at him through her eye lashes. "What if I want to send you more...personal messages?"

Thankfully he managed to hide his initial reaction and feign a mix of regret and apology. "Ah, well, it's a work phone you see, so that wouldn't be altogether appropriate. Best not."

There was a tense second when he thought she might be planning on pursuing the point, maybe asking for his non-existent personal number, but thankfully she took the hint. He was relieved. He was sure that once upon a time he'd been much more graceful when it came to brushing people off. Of course, that had been when the idea actually interested him, rather than making his skin crawl. Who knew? Maybe back then, he'd have said yes.

As it was, with a window on Lewis' movements and a few ideas on ways of arranging meetings, he went home to Danny. Just in time too. It was _cold _out here. Not surprising, really. It was, after all, the middle of winter. But nonetheless it was cold and he was starting to ache from walking all afternoon, and he had to admit to being glad to get home to a cabin with a blazing log fire and a delicious smell wafting through the air.

There was a pot in the kitchen and he walked straight over to investigate.

Huh.

"Cheese fondue," Danny announced proudly.

Mmmm. He nodded and made a grab for a cube of bread sitting on a nearby tray.

"Took me all afternoon," Danny added.

Rusty froze and _just _managed to resist the urge to drop the bread. "You made this?" he asked, very carefully.

"Yes," Danny said with a look of faint injury that he managed to keep for a total of three seconds before he grinned. "No."

"No," Rusty agreed, relaxing and dipping the bread. Now that he knew it was _safe._

"Took me most of the afternoon to get the restaurant to send it over," Danny explained. "Every time I called they wouldn't pick up."

"Huh." Rusty considered this, while enjoying the wonderful taste of cheese and cider and mmm. "Maybe you've offended them."

"All I wanted was fondue," Danny protested, grabbing some bread for himself. "Oh, this is _good._"

Rusty nodded and looked round. "We got – "

" – mulled wine," Danny nodded. "Just needs heated."

"You're really doing this mountain thing seriously, aren't you?" Rusty said with a smile.

"Uh huh," Danny nodded. "Gonna try hiking next. Hiking and maybe gorge walking."

"How do you think you gorge walk anyway?" Rusty wondered.

"I think you probably find a gorge," Danny suggested mildly. "And walk it."

Rusty considered that for a minute. "Think I'll stick with the fondue." Sounded more appealing. He looked around the cabin, taking in the skiing trophy, the pictures on the wall, the stack of unpaid bills on the counter, the lawyer's letter. "'s looking good," he said, impressed.

Danny nodded, satisfied. "Should do nicely. Lewis – "

" – yeah," Rusty said, concentrating on getting more cheese on one piece of bread than should be humanly possible. "Got enough to be going on with anyway."

They did. So far, in fact, this con was going just fine.

They spent the rest of the evening eating fondue, drinking mulled wine and watching 'The Sixth Sense', and Danny mentioned he had watched it with Linus a year back, and Linus had flat out insisted he was wrong when he suggested Bruce Willis might be dead.

"Should've put money on it," Danny lamented, and Rusty laughed.

Once the movie was done, they went to bed and he fell asleep almost immediately.

He knew it was a dream right away. Of course he knew. It was vague and nebulous and terrifying, but he couldn't wake up, and the scene barely played out, just the little details, days blended together.

_Happy Birthday," Moffatt's voice whispered... The taste of vanilla on his lips..." "I've got a surprise for you. You'll _like _this"...His lungs were on fire...greasy mashed potatoes, Moffatt's hand on his thigh...lips pressed chastely against his..."I've got a _surprise_ for you."... Birthday... surprise... Happy..._

With a silent, strangled cry, he sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard, his fingers twisted through the covers, drenched in sweat.

God, that was...he shuddered. He could still _feel _it. Made him long to go take a shower. Made him long to run through to Danny's room.

He drew his knees up to his chest, his head dropped down onto his arms, and he was shaking with left-over fear and disgust.

His heart was still racing and his skin was crawling with anxiety and sensation, and taking a deep breath, he shoved the memory of the dream to the back of his mind and got out of bed and started to run through the relaxation exercises that Stan had taught him.

It worked just fine and he could feel the tension and the fear ebbing away, and after half an hour, maybe an hour, he lay back down and did his best to forget he'd ever woken up at all.

* * *

It had been a while since he'd skied. Fortunately, seemed it was like riding a bike only with a lot more snow involved. At any rate his muscles seemed to know what they were doing, so he just got on with looking for Lewis Hutton.

Rusty had got two texts from Toni that morning. Apparently Lewis had arrived bright and early and had immediately gone back out to hit the slope. _This _particular slope, apparently. Looking round at the sea of snowsuits and goggles, he could suddenly see a problem with this plan.

"Plain navy snowsuit, orange goggles," Rusty murmured, pulling up beside him in a swish of snow. "And a red hat."

Danny shot him a grin. "Thanks."

"Took her four texts to tell us that," Rusty added pensively, staring down at the phone in his hand.

Huh. Apparently Toni wasn't above taking advantage.

"Long as the information is good," Rusty allowed with a sigh.

He nodded. Yeah. Yeah, wasn't like they wouldn't pay her. But she wouldn't be someone they'd consider going to again, if they happened to be in the neighbourhood. "Right," he said, looking round. "Navy blue and orange..."

There was no sign of Lewis, but a flash of light caught his eye and he looked down the slope in time to catch a glimpse of red hair and a camera.

Huh. He thought...alright, he was _certain _that was the woman from the airport.

He gazed down at her abstractedly. Taking pictures of the skiers. Probably she worked for a magazine or the tourist board or something. He wondered what her name was.

There was an unfamiliar ache in his chest. Regret or anticipation. He couldn't tell.

Didn't matter anyway.

He determinedly turned away, and spotted a red hat and a navy skisuit, further down the slope again.

"What do you think?" he asked softly, nudging Rusty to catch his attention.

Rusty squinted for a long moment. "I've only seen pictures," he reminded Danny at last.

Yeah. Good point. "I think it's him," he said, almost certain. "We cut downhill, we should be able to catch him at the bottom."

Rusty blinked, and it seemed like a shadow momentarily crossed his face. "Sounds good," he agreed, pulling his goggles down so Danny couldn't see his eyes. "Race you to the bottom!"

He pulled away before Danny could say anything, and Danny was left to chase after him, speeding dizzily downhill, snow and trees dashing past them, and he had to admit, this was pretty exhilarating.

They reached the bottom of the slope in a flurry of snow, Rusty a few moments ahead of him. He glanced sideways quickly and Lewis was in earshot.

He pulled his hat and goggles off and started talking loudly. "Well, Charlie, I think I nearly beat you that time, what do you think?"

"Oh, I don't think so you know, Curtis," Rusty drawled, his voice braying and vacant. "I rather think I beat you fair and square again, old man."

Danny wasn't looking, but he could feel Lewis' eyes on the back of his neck. Really, they wanted Lewis to talk to them. That was always a thousand times less suspicious than if they had to attract his attention more directly.

"Curtis! Is that you?" The voice came from behind him and Danny allowed himself the briefest of grins of relief.

He turned round slowly, frowning as though caught by surprise and for a long moment he blinked at Lewis in puzzlement. "Lewis Hutton," he said at last with an air of triumph. "I forgot you said you were coming down here. How _are _you?"

"Oh, I'm just fine," Lewis said, smiling. "Been spending time on the slopes." His eyes drifted to Rusty thoughtfully.

"Where are my manners?" Danny asked rhetorically. "Lewis, this is Charlie Regent, my client and kind host, Charlie, this is Lewis Hutton, he's in investments."

"Investments?" Rusty asked with a snort, shaking Lewis' hand. "Perhaps you can find something for Curtis to invest my money in, huh? Stop him telling me I'm broke all the time." He elbowed Danny in the ribs and Danny winced and shot a look at Lewis, who was looking thoughtful. "So what do you think of the slopes? Too many people around, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Lewis said with a grimace, looking disparagingly around himself. "Makes you wonder when skiing became the opium of the masses."

Rusty stared at him for a long moment with unwavering stupidity and incomprehension, and Danny could see Lewis smirking to himself. "Yes," Rusty nodded at last. "Now, I might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but I don't think there's any point to owning your own ski slope if you have to put up with people skiing on it."

"Your own ski slope?" Lewis asked sharply.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed amiably. "Up there. Except I can't keep it private, unfortunately." His face darkened into a sulky scowl. "Curtis says I can't afford it."

"Not many could in this day and age," Danny cut in quickly and reassuringly. He glanced quickly at Lewis again. "I think, perhaps, we'd better be going Charlie. Nice seeing you again Lewis."

"Wait," Lewis interjected. "Why don't you join me for lunch?"

Huh. They hadn't exactly been expecting that. Hoping, maybe, but not expecting. Looked like they'd judged the bait just fine.

In fact, they'd judged it so well that Lewis more or less attached himself to them for the rest of the afternoon, and they took a leisurely lunch in a nice Italian restaurant where Lewis absolutely refused to tip the waitress, as he didn't like the way she laid the plates down, Danny kept up a consistent onslaught of detached, professional charm, and Rusty drank six dry martinis and complained bitterly about his ex wife. They both casually turned aside all attempts by Lewis to talk about money problems or private ski slopes. Which, had the fortunate effect of driving him quietly wild.

Seemed like Lewis was well and truly hooked.

"I have to say I'd love to see your trophy," Lewis lied as he was standing up to leave. "Third place. That's really something."

"Would you?" Rusty asked vacantly, and inside he was grinning. "Oh, well, come by the cabin sometime."

"How about this evening?" Lewis leapt eagerly. "You mentioned Curtis was going out. You might be glad of the company."

Danny frowned at Lewis, knowing that this was exactly the sort of meeting that he, as a loyal and competent financial advisor, should be seeking to avert. "Charlie, I really don't think – "

"Sure," Rusty said, ignoring Danny with a disinterested shrug. "See you around seven?"

"Seven," Lewis repeated, and he shot a look at Danny that appeared to be trying to say _just business._

They watched as Lewis walked away and didn't relax until the door was closed behind him.

"Well," Danny exhaled.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed. "If he was any more eager he'd be running the con himself."

Danny grinned, but it turned to a frown almost immediately as he watched Rusty struggle to his feet and immediately sit back down again. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Rusty said reassuringly. "Exercise. Guess I'm not used to it."

Right. He supposed his legs were aching a little too. And certainly in the next instant Rusty stood up no problem.

"Coming?" Rusty invited. "Figure we've got a few hours to relax before Lewis comes calling."

Seemed like they'd need them.

* * *

At Danny's insistence, Rusty had taken a long, hot bath and that had helped right up until he had to try and get out of the tub. Took him a couple of minutes of thankfully-silent struggling. Huh. Humiliating.

He pressed his hand against his hip and grimaced. Exercise. Yeah. Seemed like this whole winter sport plan had its disadvantages.

Dressing quickly he headed downstairs. Was about half six and Danny was watching TV.

"You going to – "

" – I'll make myself scarce," Danny promised. "Quiet as a mouse until you need the call."

He grinned. "Do mice usually get bored?"

"I've got a book," Danny told him with a degree of misplaced pride.

"Uh huh." He found himself smiling some more. "Any particular book? Or have you not got that far yet?"

"Mrs Frisby and the rats of NIMH," Danny answered with dignity.

Rusty nodded seriously. "Mouse book. Good call."

There was a knock at the door and Rusty quickly gestured at Danny, and with a nod, Danny vanished up the stairs.

Right. Rusty sighed and brushed his hand through his hair, let his jaw droop slightly, let his eyes half-close sleepily, grabbed a martini glass from the counter. Time to be Charlie.

When he opened the door Lewis was standing there, looking bored and impatient.

Rusty stared at him for a long moment. "Oh, yes, Lewis," he said at last vaguely. "I forgot you were coming over." He gestured unevenly with the glass. "Come in. You want a drink or something?"

"A martini would hit the spot nicely," Lewis said, walking straight in, eying him with such a look of disguised disdain that Rusty couldn't help but be glad that Danny was safely upstairs. Time had only made Danny more sensitive.

"Sure," he nodded, fixing the drink while Lewis wandered around the cabin curiously, his eyes lingering on the stack of red bills. "You wanted to see the trophy, right? 's over there."

"Yes, I see," Lewis called. "Very impressive."

He brought the drinks over, neatly spilling some on the carpet. "Sorry."

"I have to admit I'm a little puzzled as to why you don't sell some things," Lewis began. "You seem to be a man of property. This cabin," He took an almost-casual drink. "Your private ski slope..."

Rusty scowled. "Can't, can I?" he said with studied injury. "Terms of my divorce. My bitch wife and her band of sharks – lawyers, y'know," he said, and watched Lewis resist the urge to roll his eyes as he explained the joke. "They'd take every penny."

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "And that stops a man like you?" he asked.

"Well, I sold a few things under the table of course," he admitted with a shrug. "Cash in hand. But Curtis says I shouldn't do that anymore. He says I'll be in a world of trouble if I get caught."

"Curtis," Lewis said with a disparaging shrug. "He lacks vision. Don't get caught, it's as simple as that." He smirked and drained his glass. "I'm sure a man like you could manage that without any difficulty."

In reality of course, Lewis didn't give a flying fuck whether Charlie would get to keep the money. All that mattered to Lewis was that the deal got made

He preened, flattered. "Well. Maybe. I don't know though."

Discreetly he reached into his pocket and pressed send, and a moment later his phone was ringing. He answered it without so much as an apologetic look at Lewis. "Hello?...Oh, it's you. I thought I told you..." He scowled petulantly. "How dare you speak to me like...no...no, you'll get your money, I...just give me more time to pay...I _told _you, you'll get your fucking money now leave me alone."

He hung up the phone and turned back to Lewis. "Fucking vampires," he grunted. "Making a lot of fuss over nothing. You know how it is."

"Quite, quite," Lewis said, oozing insincere charm. He took a step forwards and placed an intimately companionable arm around Rusty's shoulders. "You know, you really should think about selling your slope, don't you think? I'm sure it would answer a lot of your difficulties. Give you a bit of ready cash anyway."

The weight of Lewis' arm was uncomfortable. Wasn't _frightening _it just made him feel tense and on edge. Nothing he couldn't hide. Nothing he couldn't cope with these days. "You think so?" he asked, in an approximation of intent, drunken thought. He shook his head. "Can't really be done, you know. Dunno where I'd find someone with that sort of money. What am I going to do, stick an advert in the paper? 'For sale, one mountain, buyer must pay cash'." He laughed raucously.

"Oh, I'm sure you could find someone," Lewis said patiently. He squeezed Rusty's shoulders tightly. "In fact, I suppose I just might be interested myself. Possibly."

"You?" He blinked stupidly at Lewis as though the thought had never even occurred to him. "You'd do that?"

"Perhaps," Lewis shrugged and walked away, as though the subject bored him. "Why don't you show me the slope tomorrow and I'll consider it."

"Yeah," Rusty said slowly. "Yeah, we could – " His phone rang again and he answered it quickly. "Hello, what ... oh...Yeah, I see. I...uh huh..." He covered the mouthpiece. "Think I'm going to have to go out. Business, you know?"

Lewis looked faintly disgusted and disapproving. No doubt unhappy with the idea of someone in his apparent condition conducting any kind of business.

"I'll meet you tomorrow at your hotel," Rusty continued. "'Bout ten? We can carry on talking then."

"Very well," Lewis nodded. "Goodnight, Charlie."

"'night," he said absently, turning his attention back to his phone call and all the time he was acutely aware of Lewis walking across the room and the moment when he left.

Danny appeared downstairs moments later. "He bought it?"

"Hook line and sinker," Rusty promised with a grin.

* * *

Danny was fully prepared to admit it might be a bit of a risk, but neither of them had felt like staying in that evening.

Sensible thing to do was to keep their heads down and make sure that they only went out in public if they were in character. After all, if Lewis spotted them being, well, _them_, the con would probably be screwed up beyond repair. But then, neither of them had ever really been known for doing the sensible thing.

Still, they'd picked a bar that they were pretty sure Lewis wouldn't be seen dead in. Cheap and cheerful would probably be the way to describe it, and the wallpaper might be faded but it felt friendly enough. Comfortable, and they'd found a table at the back, next to the jukebox, and they sat and drank and talked and it was good.

"You reckon Lewis has been checking up on us?" Danny wondered idly.

Rusty shrugged. ""Livingston said the sites have got a few hits at least. He was going to trace the IP addresses this evening and let us know."

"It's not likely to be anyone else now, is it?" Danny objected.

"You never know," Rusty told him seriously. "You could be about to get a whole lot of calls from people seeking sound financial advice."

Immediately Danny found himself thinking of a grey office and a greyer life and men like Elliot Roth who wanted his advice, and he tried to hide the shudder. "Good thing we didn't give my number then," he said lightly.

Rusty's brow was creased and he could see the worry and the incomprehension in Rusty's eyes, and he shook his head slightly, dismissing it. That part of his life was a closed book. "You thought any more about your birthday?" he asked instead brightly. "You don't think about what you want, you might not like what you get."

A flash of memory in Rusty's eyes and Danny was cursing himself. But then Rusty was smiling with perfect confidence. "You wouldn't get me anything I wouldn't like," he said definitely.

"Believe it," Danny said hoarsely. He wanted to make sure that Rusty enjoyed his birthday. As though celebrating this one would somehow make up for the others he'd missed.

He'd never forgotten Rusty's birthday, of course. Not once.

The first year he'd been adrift in a sea of rage and unreason, and the date had still been marked on the calendar in the kitchen, circled in red and mocking him. Part of him had wanted to do something, to send something perhaps, to remind Rusty that it mattered. Instead he'd hardened his heart and spent the day telling himself it _didn't _matter.

The second year he'd expected it to hurt less. But it didn't. He found himself buying a copy of Ghostbusters, autographed by Bill Murray and Dan Ackroyd, and it sat on the dresser for three weeks before he found the strength to throw it out.

The third year his marriage was slowly crumbling away and it felt like he was falling apart along with it, and he'd felt more alone than he ever had in his life. He lay on the sofa and drank his weight in cheap whisky and dreamed of days when he could change the world.

The fourth year he'd been working with Linus of course, and on Rusty's birthday he'd insisted on taking the kid to rob the Met, and afterwards they'd eaten Chinese take-out at three in the morning, and talked about whether dolphins could be trained to find pirate treasure, and it had been one more day living with a pain he didn't even notice anymore.

"Maybe we could stop by and see Saul," he suggested. "Or the three of us could head down to Vegas. See Reuben."

"Thought we agreed that you should stay clear of Vegas for at least a couple of years," Rusty pointed out. "Benedict knows you, remember?"

"Yeah, but Carson's behind bars," Danny answered with an easy shrug. Not like Terry had any way of connecting them to the job.

"Doesn't mean he's gonna be pleased to see you," Rusty said decidedly. "No Vegas, okay? Indulge me."

"Don't I always," Danny answered quickly, finishing his drink.

"Alright, since you're always so indulgent, I'll get the next round," Rusty told him with a grin, and he headed up to the bar and vanished amongst the crowd.

Danny frowned slightly as he watched him go. Looked like Rusty was still limping slightly. That was odd...

His musings were cut short by the sound of his phone ringing.

He checked the display quickly. Tess. Huh. That was strange. They'd been keeping in touch, but she normally called on a Saturday morning. Maybe something was wrong.

"Hi Tess," he said as he answered. "What's up?"

"Hello Danny," she said, and she didn't _sound _too upset at least.

"Is everything okay?" he asked anyway.

"Yes, but I thought..." She sighed. "I thought I should let you know. David came by today."

David? God, Danny hadn't thought of him in _years. _"Did you just bump into him or – "

" – no, he came to the house," she confirmed and he grimaced slightly.

"Sorry," he said, and he'd long since lost track of the amount of apologies he'd made for Rusty's brother over the years.

"I don't know where he got the address from, but he didn't know about the divorce," she told him. "He didn't even know that Rusty had gone to prison. I didn't tell him. It didn't seem like my place. That was right, wasn't it?"

Danny found himself wondering just how David would have taken the news. At any rate, no, Rusty would never want David to find out that way. Hell, Rusty would probably never want David to find out at all. "I take it he was looking for Rusty?" he asked.

"Yes. Well, for both of you," she agreed. "I said I didn't know where you were. And I said I didn't have a number for you."

"Thanks" he said, breathing a sigh of relief. If Rusty wanted to see David again, Danny wouldn't stop him. But he wanted it to be Rusty's choice. "Did he leave a number?"

"Yes," Tess said. "I wrote it down..."

He quickly felt through his pockets for a pen, and his fingers brushed over the folded paper in his jacket pocket, and as always he tried not to think about it. Pen and a beermat, and he scribbled down the number quickly.

"Thanks, Tess," he said again, and he forced himself to ask the next question. "Did he ask for money?"

Silence. "It doesn't matter," Tess said at last, reluctantly, and that was a yes if Danny had ever heard one.

"How much?" he asked gently.

"I gave him five hundred dollars," Tess admitted with a sigh. "It was all I had in the house. He said he needed it to get out of town. And he said he _had _to get out of town."

Yeah. He always needed something. "I'll pay you back," Danny promised, and five hundred dollars wasn't that much in the scheme of things, but there was no way he was going to let Tess pay it.

"He said it was just a loan," she protested.

"Uh huh." Danny knew he sounded sceptical, but he couldn't help it. Not that he kept track, but he knew that over the last two decades, he and Rusty had lent David close to a million dollars. And they'd never seen a penny of it back. "I'll pay you back. Monday, I'll be back in the city and I'll go straight to the bank."

"I didn't tell you because I wanted the money, Danny," she told him.

"I know," he said, because he did. She'd wanted to give him a heads up. "Now. How's the rest of your week been?"

They spent another five minutes or so talking in pleasing inconsequentialities, and it wasn't until he hung up the phone that he realised that Rusty hadn't come back from the bar.

The slow burn of panic wound its way through him and he was on his feet in an instant, cursing his inattention, searching through the crowd.

He found Rusty standing at the corner of the bar, and the dark-haired man was standing closer to Rusty than Danny liked, and his smile was too intimate and his voice was too low, and the way he carefully brushed his fingers over Rusty's shirt sleeve as he made some obscure point, just made Danny want to punch him.

An instant before Danny would have lost it completely, Rusty looked over at him, just for a fraction of a second, and Danny could read the warning there, the plea for calm.

Thing was, even though Rusty didn't want him to, he could also read the tension and the fear, and the seemingly-endless well of self disgust.

He swallowed hard at looked at the dark-haired guy again, looked at the intelligence, and the humour, and the unselfconsciously flirtatious. Once upon a time Danny would have seen this scene and smiled and not waited up. Once upon a time he'd have thought of the guy as Rusty's type.

Not now though.

Rusty said something to the guy and stood up, walking unsteadily towards Danny and he wasn't looking Danny in the eyes now, his gaze had drifted towards the floor and he was unconsciously hunched in on himself, like he was trying to hide right out in the open, and Danny had never wanted to see that again.

"Hey!" the guy exclaimed, loud and startled. "Give me your number at least," and he was on his feet, putting himself in front of Rusty, and he might not be _touching _Rusty, but he had Rusty trapped against the bar, unable to move past him without brushing against him. "Or you can have mine if you like," the guy added, reaching out and playfully brushing an invisible speck of dust from Rusty's chest.

Danny couldn't see Rusty's eyes.

He didn't need to.

Fuck, he didn't even need to think.

Less than a second and he had the guy by the shoulder, hauling him around roughly, and his fist crashed into the guy's face.

The guy staggered back, staring at him in shock. "What the hell?" he demanded. "You got a problem with me, man?"

A crowd had formed instantly, shouting indiscriminately, and Danny's eyes flickered past him to Rusty, and Rusty was being held back, kept away from him.

The guy caught the look. "Oh, right, you got a problem with gays," he sneered disgustedly, stepping forwards and shoving Danny hard in the chest. "You know, homophobic bastards like you should – "

" – I got a problem with _you,_" Danny snarled recklessly, and he grabbed the guy's arm and tried to hit him again but he twisted away.

"Danny!" Rusty managed to get free and he was at Danny's side in an instant, pushing him away, keeping his body between Danny and the dark-haired guy. "Come on. Leave it."

"Oh, so _that's _it?" the guy said, loud and incredulous and maybe just a little hurt. "Yeah, you just let your boyfriend take you out of here. Just FYI, he seemed pretty hot to trot a moment ago. In fact, I'd be willing to bet with another half hour, I could have had me on his knees in front of me, sucking on my dick."

Obviously the guy was lying. Bravado in a barfight. There was nothing behind his words, nothing at all. Rationally, Danny didn't even think that was what he'd been _looking _for.

But Danny saw Rusty flinch and nothing else mattered.

He threw himself towards the guy, and maybe, just maybe he was ready to commit murder, but immediately his way was blocked by the bulk of the barman.

"Right, both of you. Get the fuck out right now or I'm calling the cops."

Rusty seized the moment of distraction and grabbed Danny by the shoulders and shoved and dragged him towards the door, and Danny could break free if he really wanted, but it would have meant hurting Rusty.

The freezing cold air of the parking lot.

Eyes full of anger, Rusty let him go. "What the _fuck?_"

Danny's mouth twisted. "I couldn't let – "

The dark haired guy exploded behind them. "You _bastard. _Just couldn't leave it alone, could you?"

Instinctively, Danny turned and the guy was striding towards him, his fist pulled back, and Danny readied himself to block or dodge or hit back.

The guy swung hard.

Rusty sidestepped quickly in front of Danny.

The fist crashed awkwardly into the side of Rusty's face and Rusty's head snapped back with the impact.

Seconds later and Rusty was on the floor and Danny was kneeling next to him.

"You alright?" he asked quickly, his hand on Rusty's shoulder, helping him to sit up.

"Fine," Rusty said shortly.

Danny turned and glared at the guy who, surprisingly, had backed up a little. "Hey, I wasn't trying to hit him."

Danny continued to glare.

"Yeah, fine, I'll go," the guy mumbled. "Fuck it, you deserve each other."

Danny hoped so.

He looked back at Rusty. "Come on. Let's go."

With a nod Rusty clambered awkwardly to his feet his jaw was set and Danny could _see _the simmering fury in his eyes. He wasn't surprised. Not like he wasn't angry too. God. Rusty taking the punch for him...Rusty being in that situation in the first place. He wanted to scream and shout and he didn't even know what he wanted to _say._

They walked back to the cabin in hurt silence, more space between them than there had been in six months.

* * *

Somehow the cabin seemed much colder than when they'd left. Rusty closed and locked the door, giving them as much sense of privacy as possible, and by some miraculous effort, he didn't start shouting immediately.

He crossed to the cupboard instead. "Drink?" he offered with frigid politeness.

"Please," Danny replied, equally formal, equally distant.

He nodded and poured them each a whisky and reached towards the machine to get some ice.

"You should put some of that on your face," Danny said quietly.

He stilled but didn't look round, and he thought for a second about telling Danny it was just a bruise, that really it wasn't bad enough for him to even notice. "Sure," he said instead. He might be angry, but he didn't want to _hurt _Danny. Not like that.

Carefully not making eye contact, he passed the tumbler of whisky over to Danny and he grabbed some napkins and made a bundle of ice to press against his cheek.

He didn't have to look round to know that Danny was desperate to take the compress out of his hand, to take over looking after him. And that didn't help.

"I am so fucking angry with you right now," he said levelly.

Danny sighed and Rusty could hear the tension in his voice. "You think I could just stand and watch him – "

" – _he _didn't do anything!" he shouted, swinging round wildly to stare at Danny. "You started a fight for no reason!"

"Not for no reason," Danny snapped, anger bubbling under the surface.

Rusty laid out the truth, flat and harsh and awful. "He didn't hurt me. He didn't even _want _to hurt me. He was just flirting and you took him apart."

"I saw the look in your eyes, Rus'," Danny began, and Rusty didn't want to _know _what he'd seen. Wasn't like he couldn't imagine. Wasn't like he hadn't seen that look in the mirror. "I _had _to."

"You didn't have to." The words fell heavily from his lips.

"Rus' – " Danny sighed.

" – you didn't have to!" he shouted again, and the ice fell out of his hand, and landed unnoticed on the ground. "Fuck, Danny, this the way its gonna be from now on? You going to be gunning for everyone who thinks I look like I'm up for a good time?" He winced as he heard the loathing in his own voice.

"A good time?" Danny repeated, his mouth twisted, and Rusty could see that Danny had picked up on the self-hatred.

"Leave it," he said tiredly.

Danny nodded. "How about you?" he asked in a low voice. "You gonna throw yourself in front of every stray punch that comes my way?"

Rusty shook his head quickly. "We're not talking about that."

"Really?" Danny snorted, and the anger was alive in his voice. "And who put you in charge of what we get to talk about?"

Rusty glared at him. "I don't let people hit you. That hasn't changed."

Danny glared right back. "I don't let people hurt you. Period."

And that wasn't _fair. _That hadn't been what was going on."He was – "

" – I _know," _Danny said, his voice thick with anguish._ "_Fuck, you think I don't know that? I don't care what he thought was going on. I care what you felt was going on."

The raw honesty in Danny's voice was hard to deal with. The anger bled away.

"I should be able to deal with this better," he said, turning away from Danny. Six months. For fuck's sake, he should be able to sit with a guy in a bar and not completely lose his fucking mind.

Danny stared at him. "Rus'..." He sighed. "You _are _dealing with this better. You want to think about how much worse this would have been six months ago?" No. No, that wasn't something he wanted to think about. He would have fallen apart and he damn well knew it. "Don't...you can't obsess over what you can't do."

"I didn't even realise he was flirting, Danny," he admitted in a low voice. "He was standing at the bar and I walked up behind him, and he smiled at me and asked me to settle an argument. Asked me what the perfect mix for a margarita was. I...we got talking. He was...funny. He made me laugh." He'd felt relaxed at first. Relaxed and happy and the conversation had been light and sparkling. And now, thinking about it, he just felt so stupid. "I really didn't realise he was flirting, Danny. Not until he started touching me."

"And when he did?" Danny asked gently.

There was a long pause. "I wanted to see if I could deal with it," he lied at last.

Danny looked at him patiently.

He closed his eyes briefly. "I froze up," he admitted, ashamed. The moment he'd felt the hand on his, the moment he'd understood the guy's intentions, had seen the way the night was _supposed _to go, he'd felt trapped. Panicked. He hadn't been able to find it in himself to just walk away.

"Oh, Rus'," Danny said, and he laid his hand gently against Rusty's cheek. "'s okay. Really, it's okay."

"Yeah?" he snorted. "Case you haven't noticed, seems like neither of us can cope with me being hit on. You don't think that's gonna be a problem in the future?"

"I shouldn't have hit him," Danny admitted quietly, his hand still pressed to Rusty's face, comforting both of them. "It was wrong and it was stupid. But I saw him with you and I saw your face, and I saw..."

Yeah. Rusty knew what he'd seen. Everyone who'd hurt him. All the names Danny wanted. All the names Danny must never know.

"I was angry," Danny said, his hand dropping to his side. "That doesn't go away, Rus'."

No. No, Rusty didn't suppose it did. Probably it never would. And he knew that not _knowing,_ not being able to do anything about it...he knew that killed Danny inside.

The last embers of anger turned to cold ash. He caught Danny's hand in his. "Don't do it again."

"You forgive me?" Danny asked with a soft smile.

"It was never about forgiveness," Rusty said with a shrug. "I'm angry. But I understand."

Danny nodded, his eyes distant.

"Just...don't do it again," he pleaded again. "I need to...we _both _need to learn to deal with these things."

"Yeah," Danny agreed tiredly. There was a long pause. "You wanna sit down a minute?" Danny said eventually, pointing to the sofa.

Rusty looked at him for a moment, recognising the tone of voice. "Danny...I'm not gonna stand and watch you get punched. That's not..." He gestured awkwardly. "That's all me. _Us _rather. And I wasn't looking to get hit, you know? Plan was to shove you out of the way and duck. Turned out that he was faster than he looked."

Danny listened patiently to the explanation. "I know that, Rus', really. I'm angry but I'm not...I understand."

Huh. He looked at Danny thoughtfully as he sat down and Danny settled next to him. "What, then?"

"What you said about looking like you wanted a good time. And a few months ago you said...you suggested..." Danny's face was creased with distaste and he was struggling to get the words out.

"Hey." He laid his hand on Danny's briefly. "Whatever it is, I'll assume you don't agree, okay?"

Danny smiled at him, but the smile faded almost immediately. "You said that there wasn't a difference between what happened in prison and your love life before."

Oh, God. He didn't remember saying that. Must have been while he was lost in the middle of a flashback, or whatever. He _hated _that there were things he didn't remember. Gaps missing out of his head and it frightened him.

And what he'd said to Danny...that frightened him too.

"'s not actually...I mean, rationally I know that back then, no one hurt me, and that I didn't hurt anyone or...or force them to do anything they didn't want to do."

By the look of horror on Danny's face, Danny hadn't even _considered _that aspect of it.

He hurried on quickly. "But when I think back...it _feels _the same. I mean, the physical acts..." He swallowed hard, telling himself fiercely that the feeling of nausea was all just in his head. "I've done...that...before and _liked _it." He finished in a rapid whisper. "And I've done it to other people too."

"It's not the same," Danny said fiercely. "God, Rusty, you can't even – "

" – I _know,_" Rusty cut in. "I know, Danny. Like I said, rationally I know all that." He shrugged and stared blindly down at the carpet. "I can't help the way I feel."

Danny reached out and lifted Rusty's chin with his thumb, turning Rusty to face him. "Rus'. What happened to you was wrong. It was _obscene. _And it had nothing to do with sex."

"It had something to do with sex," Rusty objected.

"Not sex the way it should be," Danny told him firmly.

"Should." He moved away from Danny and leaned back against the sofa with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Danny had always cared about what _should _be, and mostly the real world was nowhere near. "They knew I was gay, you know."

There was a long silence.

"You're _not _gay," Danny pointed out slowly.

He grinned darkly. "My own personal sexual identity wasn't really relevant. They knew I was a fag, that's all that mattered."

He heard the sharp intake of breath and winced. Danny had heard him called that before, of course. He remembered that time in the back of the truck with Matthew Brigstock. Wasn't like tonight was the first time Danny had lost it defending Rusty's honour.

"Don't even know exactly how they found out," he added, moving on quickly. "There was no one there I knew, but I guess someone must have known someone who knew me. He was behind it, I know that. He mentioned a couple of names from way back...Used to tell me that he knew I liked it. He always insisted that there was no difference..."

"_He _wouldn't know the truth if it walked up to him and stabbed him through the heart," Danny said savagely.

"I know," he nodded. The reality Moffatt offered...he'd left that behind. "I know. But when I remember having sex...with _anyone_...it feels the same. Feels dirty and it feels wrong, and it scares me. It's like...everything, my whole life, has been overwritten. There's nothing they didn't touch. It frightens me, sometimes."

"Rus'..." Danny reached over and his arm was lightly around Rusty's shoulder, offering comfort, offering love, offering the world.

With a sigh, Rusty leaned back against him, and here at least was something that Moffatt had never defiled. "I've got you," he murmured.

"Always," Danny promised hoarsely.

He closed his eyes and basked in warmth and compassion and forever.

"I just wish sometimes I could forget," he said softly

* * *

Danny lay awake and stared at the ceiling and thought about the evening. He was tired, but he hadn't come anywhere close to sleep.

Hearing Rusty talking about his past like that...it made Danny feel sick. There was no truth there at all, and he could only hope that with time and patience, Rusty would come to realise that.

The rest of the night they'd drank and watched old movies and they'd hardly talked at all, but that had been alright. Anger was exhausting, and he'd been glad to get to bed. Just that he wished he wasn't alone.

Hadn't been his idea. In fact, if it had been up to him, he'd have followed Rusty to bed, not wanting to let go, not wanting to be _alone_, but Rusty had paused in the bedroom door, looking back at him, and he could see the desire in Rusty's eyes.

Lately Rusty had wanted more space. More independence, Danny supposed. And that was perfectly understandable, but after the night they'd had...wasn't just in the last six months they'd started needing each other, after all.

It had been an awful night. And after all that, he hadn't told Rusty that David had called. He bit his lip; he _needed _to tell Rusty. Personally, he'd rather give Tess her money back and leave David to get himself out of whatever catastrophe he'd fallen into, but he knew Rusty wouldn't go along with that. And he couldn't keep this from Rusty. No matter how tempting it was.

An almost inaudible noise, and he looked towards the door quickly. That had been...soft footsteps creeping across the landing and his bedroom door was slowly pushed open.

He smiled and without saying a word, he pulled the comforter back, and Rusty crept into bed beside him.

Rusty was shaking slightly.

Danny pulled him close. "Nightmare?" he murmured.

"Yeah," Rusty agreed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Wasn't asleep," Danny assured him. "And it wouldn't matter if I _was _asleep, you know."

"Going to bed alone and waking up with me wouldn't bother you?" Rusty asked sleepily.

"Never has before," Danny pointed out. He brushed his hand through Rusty's hair. "Want to talk about it?"

"Cupcakes," Rusty said softly. "And greasy mashed potato."

Danny waited for a second, but nothing more was forthcoming and he held Rusty tighter, and he didn't need to understand the answer. "Let's go see Saul once we get back," he said softly. "We can drive down the coast. Make it a proper road trip. Not like there's any hurry..." He yawned. "I know you've got a list of all the best places to eat between New York and St Petersburg."

"Pancakes," Rusty told him seriously, sounding on the very edge of sleep.

Danny grinned. "Exactly," he agreed, kissing Rusty's hair lightly. "Pancakes like in that little place that was sandwiched between three bars, remember? I don't even remember where that _was._" Rusty would know, but Rusty didn't answer. "The waitress was a suppressed writer, remember? She was writing a novel in her pad...every time we wanted another order, it'd be half an hour before she actually stopped scribbling long enough to listen. But those pancakes...I have to admit, they were the best I ever tasted. And I thought _you _were gonna give up trying to figure out how to steal the deposit box in favour of figuring out how to steal the batter recipe."

He whispered old stories until they were both asleep, safe in each others' arms.

* * *

Rusty woke up with a silent cry of pain and instinctively he tensed, pulling his leg up against his chest, his arms tucked uncomfortably against his hip, and it _hurt, _and he bit his lip hard and didn't make a sound.

It was maybe a half hour before he heard the sounds of Danny getting up, obviously trying not to wake him, and he lay perfectly still, listening to the sound of the shower running, his fists clenched tight, trying to manage the pain, and by the time Danny came back into the room, towel drying his hair vigorously, he was almost on top of it.

"Planning on staying in bed all day?" Danny asked cheerfully.

"Depends what's for breakfast," he answered lightly.

Danny laughed and Rusty smiled at him, and the smile didn't fade until Danny had left the room.

Gingerly he stretched his leg out, wincing at every movement, as he slipped out of bed slowly, his jaw clenched tight as he got to his feet.

Was definitely worse this morning. He sighed. Would be better when he got up and moving. Probably better still if he soaked it or something.

He limped through into the bathroom before there was any chance of Danny coming back.

For a moment he stared at the bath. Tempting, but he thought about yesterday and he wasn't so sure he'd be able to get back up again. And fuck, didn't that hurt to admit?

Shower seemed like a safer option and he awkwardly clambered into it, turned the water up as hot as it could go and trained the shower jet on his hip, his hands pressed against the tiles, holding him up through the pain.

Eventually the bathroom was full of steam and the pain had mostly faded to a stiffness and a dull manageable ache, and he stumbled out of the shower, reaching for a towel.

Somehow, he couldn't quite lift his leg high enough, and his foot caught on the edge of the shower, and he pitched forwards, desperately reaching out to try and save himself, and his arm, caught the mirror above the sink, sending it smashing into the shelf below, and he hit the ground amid a crash of broken glass.

Danny was standing over him, practically before he'd had a chance to so much as blink, let alone get himself up off the floor.

For a moment Danny stood in the doorway, staring down at him, his eyes wild, terrified and unreasoning.

The bathroom...he was naked...broken glass...

"I fell," he assured Danny quickly, and Danny was gazing at him, desperately searching for truth, and Rusty met his eyes, trying to offer comfort and reassurance, trying to hide the pain. He struggled to get up and he had to bite his lip to choke back the cry as he felt his hip buckle under him.

"You're hurt," Danny said, and a little of the fear had vanished from Danny's eyes, replaced with worry and concern, and then Danny's arms were around him instantly, helping him stand, and he leaned on Danny, let Danny take him back to his room, getting him seated on the bed.

"It's your leg?" Danny asked, looking across Rusty's body, and for once, Rusty doubted that Danny even saw the scars.

"My hip," Rusty nodded, fighting to keep the pain locked inside. "Think I jarred it when I fell."

Danny paused in his examination. "You jarred it when you fell?" he repeated. "But it was already sore, wasn't it?"

He nodded shortly.

"The skiing the other day..." Danny started, and trailed off, staring at Rusty's face. "No. It wasn't that."

"I don't think it helped," he offered quietly.

"But that's not why you're hurting," Danny said, biting his lip. "Oh, Rus'...Wait a minute, okay?" He made to stand up and Rusty laid a hand on his arm.

"We don't have any painkillers," he reminded Danny quickly.

Danny nodded unhappily. "Good point." He squeezed Rusty's hand tightly. "This – "

" – think it's the cold," he admitted. "Least I think that's what started it."

"The cold?" Danny asked, frowning.

"Few years ago I got...hurt," Rusty began reluctantly. "My hip was dislocated. There was other damage too, I think. Tendons or cartilage or..." He bit his lip, remembering the doctors standing over his bed, well out of arms reach despite the handcuffs. "I don't _know, _Danny." He admitted miserably. "When I was in hospital I heard the doctors say something but they didn't actually talk to me...hell, they didn't _look _at me. And I guess I just wasn't paying attention."

Danny's eyes were dark and he squeezed Rusty's hand again. "And it's hurt since then?"

"Not all the time," he assured Danny quickly. "Mostly its fine. But I remember a few times it ached...mostly in winter." He looked at Danny and shrugged and smiled. "I never made the link though. Was always plausible I'd...hurt it again."

Danny took a deep breath and it looked like he was making a herculean effort not to comment on that. "Okay. So how do we make it better?"

Rusty sighed. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Danny asked.

"You have the look of a man who is thinking about buying tickets to Hawaii," he explained with a grimace.

"Actually, I was thinking of the Bahamas," Danny said lightly, but he wasn't kidding.

Rusty sighed. "Danny. We're finishing the job."

"It's not that important," Danny argued. "We got nothing tied up in it. There's no reason we can't walk away right now."

"I don't want to," he returned immediately. He didn't want to let his frailties affect them like that. "Honestly, I think if I just rest up for a bit, it'll be fine."

Danny looked at him for a long moment. "Okay. You're supposed to be showing Lewis around the ski slope this morning. I'll do that while you stay here and rest up. And if it's no better by then, we leave."

That hadn't exactly been what he'd had in mind. He frowned.

Danny caught the look and gazed at him evenly. "If you prefer, we can talk about the fact that you've been hurting for the last couple of days and didn't tell me."

Okay. He really didn't want to talk about that part. He shook his head mutely.

Danny's gaze softened. "You can't _do _that, Rus'. I need to know."

Yeah. Yeah, hiding it had been stupid. Danny _did _need to know, and not just because Danny was Danny. If things had gone wrong...if he wasn't able to run, he could've got them both killed.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Danny squeezed his fingers understandingly and stood up. "Alright. The drugstore will be open by now. I'll run out quickly and get some painkillers. Anything else you need?"

"Chocolate?" he requested hopefully.

Danny smiled. "Goes without saying."

* * *

Danny waited impatiently for Lewis on the upper reaches of the slope.

He'd left Rusty settled on the sofa with painkillers, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, banana milkshake, and a heatpack pressed against his hip.

Despite Rusty's objections, Danny had stayed long enough to see the tension and pain fade from Rusty's face. Seemed the heat especially was helping, and that was good.

He didn't like to think about the fact that Rusty hadn't told him he was hurt. Didn't like to think about the way Rusty's instincts were moulded to hide the pain, to keep it inside, suppressed and silent. Hell, Rusty hadn't made a sound when he'd fallen, and Danny _knew _that had hurt. And of course, part of that was just the way Rusty was, but it was more than that now, and he couldn't bear to think of the time that Rusty had spent hurt and alone, forced to keep quiet and conceal his injuries.

And what Rus' had said about being in hospital...God, Danny wanted to kill those doctors. He could imagine Rusty lying alone and ignored in a hospital bed, not even being told what was happening to him. Not considered worthy of being told what was going on with his own body.

At some point soon, he'd have to take Rusty back to see Stan. Maybe there was something that could be done. Something that hadn't healed right maybe.

"Curtis?" He turned in time to see Lewis stalking towards him. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. I was going to meet Charlie...is he coming?" He looked round expectantly.

"No," Danny said, with an impatient grimace. "No, he had a bit of an accident I'm afraid. He was coming home last night and apparently he had a fall on the ice. Little the worse for wear, I think. He decided to spend the morning in bed. Hungover, if you ask me." There. That explained Rusty's absence and gave an explanation for the bruise and the limp if they _did _decide to stick around.

"Oh." Lewis sounded taken aback. "Well, then, I really don't think – "

" – I have been instructed to show you the slope," Danny said woodenly. "In case you decide you want to buy it."

Lewis looked at him thoughtfully. "And you always follow your client's instructions, I suppose."

"Of course," Danny agreed.

"Look, I've been in this game a long time," Lewis said, with the air of one imparting confidential wisdom. "I know what's what. I've done my research and you're the real deal. But Charlie is a grade A moron and you know it."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "He's still my client."

"But don't you wish you could get shot of him?" Lewis asked. "The way I read the landscape, whatever you do, it's only a matter of time before he loses everything. I would have thought you'd want to be well away before the ship sank."

"It's a point of view, certainly," Danny said, inclining his head, and the gesture might as well have been a conspiratorial wink.

"Why not take the opportunity to make some real money before you do?" Lewis asked.

With an effort, Danny managed to hide the smile. _That _was what he wanted to hear. Soon as they'd realised he'd have to take this meeting, they'd been figuring out the advantage. By letting Lewis know that _Curtis _knew that there was a deal on the table...the pot just got a little larger. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.

"First of all, this is legitimate, right?" Lewis checked. "This ski slope. Charlie owns it outright?"

"Yes," Danny nodded. "The documentation is all back at the cabin. _If _any sale went ahead, it would be available for perusal."

"That's what I like to hear," Lewis said, rubbing his hands together. "Now, the way I read the situation, you're going to advise Charlie to avoid any deal, am I right?"

"Of course," Danny nodded. "It's going to go wrong and you know it. I imagine you've been telling him that you can do the paperwork for a token amount, right? And you'll give him the full sum in cash?"

"Something like that," Lewis agreed.

"You know that won't work," Danny snorted. "Oh, you'll be fine. But he'll be lucky not to get arrested for fraud."

"If he's careful and keeps his mouth shut..." Lewis said with a shrug.

They both laughed.

"Seriously though," Lewis went on. "I'd never have met Charlie if it wasn't for you. With that in mind, perhaps you've earned a finders fee. If you don't interfere with any dealmaking."

"A finders fee?" Danny said slowly.

"I was thinking something in the region of...twenty grand? Sounds reasonable."

"I think a hundred grand has a much better ring to it," Danny said mildly.

Lewis smiled. "Why don't we call it sixty and be done with it," he suggested.

Ha! Rusty had thought they'd settle on fifty. "Done," he said graciously and they shook hands.

"I'll call Charlie to make the arrangements," Lewis said with a smile. "After that, we'll see about your fee. A pleasure doing business with you, Curtis. Perhaps this could be the start of something profitable."

"Let's hope so," he smiled back, and he watched Lewis walk away.

Good. Now he could get back to Rusty.

He had to get the cable car back down the mountain and he waited twenty minutes or so before heading over to the station. Time enough that he could be reasonably certain he wasn't going to run into Lewis.

The cable car was pretty empty, so he was surprised when someone sat next to him. Surreptitiously he turned his head. Red hair. A camera in her hand. A thoughtful gaze trained on him.

The woman from the airport.

He turned away quickly, his heart inexplicably pounding.

"Hi," she said, sounding amused. "Are you really planning on ignoring me? We haven't even been introduced."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"That's alright," she told him generously. "I forgive you anyway."

Startled, he laughed. "You always introduce yourself this way?"

"I haven't actually introduced myself," she returned. "Jessica Parker. And I'm either talking to Danny or Curtis. Which is it?"

Fuck. He didn't react beyond a flicker of mild puzzlement. "I think you have me confused with someone else," he said slowly.

"Someone has you confused with someone else," she agreed.

The cable car lurched and started moving down the mountains. Effectively he was trapped with her. Whatever she wanted.

"You're more handsome _without _your mask, I think," she said examining him critically.

He tilted his head to one side. "Mask?" he said innocently.

She reached into her camera bag and pulled out a couple of glossy photographs and passed them over to him. Clearly they'd both been taken yesterday. One was him standing at the top of the slope, looking off camera. Looking at _Rusty_, he knew; he was smiling and his eyes were open and unguarded. Silently he looked to the other picture. Him, Lewis and Rusty standing together. Lewis was looking at him and he was looking at Rusty, and he almost winced to see the expression on his face. Sneering and supercilious. Not the way _he _looked at _Rusty._

He looked up at Jessica. "What exactly are you trying to find out?"

"Right now?" She shrugged. "Your name."

He should give her Curtis' name. It was the only sensible thing to do. The _safe _thing to do. "Danny Ocean," he said.

"Really?" Her mouth quirked. "Suits you, actually. So, Danny. I'd guess that you're putting on this mask for the not-so-benefit of this guy here." She tapped her finger on the image of Lewis.

"And if that was true, what would you want to do about it?" he asked politely.

"Mmm. You think I should blackmail you, maybe? Say I'll tell all unless you ask me out for drinks?"

He grinned. "Drinks."

Her lips were pursed. "You think I should hold out for dinner and a movie? You could be right." She put the photos away. "The truth is, I have no idea what your plans are for Lewis Hutton, and I care slightly less. The man is a pig."

"You've met him before?" he asked quickly.

"I've...encountered him," she said. "I live here and he visits on a regular basis. I've seen him in restaurants, holding forth on how wonderful he is while harassing the staff, and I've seen him on the slopes, cutting in front of other skiers. It's a miracle he hasn't got anyone killed."

"I see," Danny said neutrally.

"So you see," she said with a smile. "Whoever you are, or whoever you're working for, I really don't care one jot."

"Then why are you talking to me?" he asked her.

Her eyes grew serious and she leaned in very close to him. "Because you're dark, handsome and mysterious. And I want you."

Her face was inches from him, and he didn't move and he didn't break the gaze, and the air was alive with heat and desire.

After a second she leaned back, looking pleased with herself. "So. Not gay then."

His eyebrows shot up. "You thought I was – "

" – well, you are sharing a cabin with a _very _pretty blond," she said with a shrug. "And you look at him like he's the only person in the world. You can't be surprised that people wonder if you're screwing him. But you're not?"

"God, _no,_" Danny burst out, shuddering at the thought, and his voice was loud enough that people were staring. He pretended he couldn't see and they sat in silence until everyone had looked away.

"You have a problem with that?" she asked, her voice chilly, and she had drawn back, away from him.

He didn't like the hint of disgust in her eyes. "That's the second time I've been accused of homophobia in two days," he noted with a sigh. "No, I don't have a problem with that. Just not with _him._ He's like my brother." And that was truth, but not the reason why the thought filled him with such horror. Once upon a time he'd greeted any assumptions like that with amusement. They'd even played along a time or five.

"I see," she said slowly, and she was still watching him thoughtfully. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You weren't to know," he said with a shrug. "'s okay." With a feeling of relief and regret, he realised they were almost at the bottom of the mountain.

"So," Jessica said, passing him a card. "Here's my number. If you want to take me up on my blackmail offer."

He didn't take the card. "Jessica...my life is complicated right now. I'm not sure I can – "

" – I'm not looking for anything complicated," she interrupted. "I'm not _offering _anything complicated. All I'm suggesting is dinner, drinks and some really _fantastic _sex."

Oh. He smiled lightly. "Right now, even that sounds complicated."

She put the card into his hand and carefully folded his hand around it. "Give me a call if you change your mind," she said, as the cable car lurched to a halt. "I'm around today and tomorrow. After that, who knows?"

They didn't say another word as they disembarked and his head was spinning as he watched her walk away.

He carefully tucked her card into his pocket. Even if he'd been looking for something, this wasn't the time or the place. He had to get back to Rusty.

The good thing was, he'd managed to get done with Lewis far earlier than he'd expected. Rusty might have acted like he was overreacting, but he didn't like Rusty in pain. Didn't like the reason why. And so when he reached their cabin, he practically ran inside.

Huh. Rusty wasn't in the living room. His brow was furrowed. Maybe Rusty had gone back to bed? That would be understandable. Not wanting to risk waking Rusty, he crept upstairs very quietly and pushed the door to Rusty's room open.

He stopped dead and for a second he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't concentrate on anything but the panic and the terror and the anger and his eyes were fixed on the cuffs that bound Rusty's hands to the headboard, on the ties that had Rusty's legs spread wide and fixed to the bedposts, on Rusty's unfastened pants.

"You know what I don't get?" Rusty asked, his eyes fixed on the TV, a faint flush of embarrassment and guilt visible on his face. "I mean, anyone can talk _to _a horse, right? Doesn't matter if the horse is Mr Ed or not. It's the fact that he talks back that makes him special.

Danny stepped in front of the television firmly, and now he was looking at the handcuff keys lying on the pillow within easy grabbing distance of Rusty's right hand, on the alarm clock that had been turned away. "We need to talk," he said, and his voice was trembling.

* * *

In an instant, Danny grabbed the key and undid the cuffs, pulled the ties off Rusty's legs, and his mouth was set in a thin line, like he couldn't bear to see this one second longer.

Rusty stood up quickly, fastening his pants, and he could feel the heat in his face. This wasn't exactly his proudest moment.

"How's your hip?" Danny asked quietly.

"Feeling better," he said honestly. After an hour or so with the heatpack, the pain had eased, and he'd felt comfortable enough to push himself.

Danny looked round the room and shuddered, and Rusty didn't even know what he was thinking. "Let's go downstairs," Danny said abruptly, and Rusty nodded and followed Danny downstairs, rubbing his wrists.

"Let me see," Danny said, noticing without even so much as looking round, and Rusty submitted, holding his arms out. Danny took his hands, inspecting them carefully, turning his hands over, and the abrasions were hardly visible, but Danny still looked at them like they _hurt _him. "Oh, what have you done to yourself, Rus'?" he whispered as he carefully pressed ice on them.

He swallowed hard. "Handcuffs," he explained. "Or being tied up generally. It frightens me. And I need to get over that."

"Rus..." Danny said, shaking his head.

"Remember back in the parking lot with Bobby? After Carson...after Carson? Bobby had his guy arrest me and you _know _how I reacted to that. Fuck, Danny, I thought Bobby was going to..." He bit his lip and Danny's eyes were wide and horrified. "If you hadn't been there, what do you think would have happened? And here we are still doing what we do, and you know we could get caught. By the cops or by someone else. Next time, what happens if you're not there? Or what happens if you have to keep all your focus on calming me, and we miss the opportunity?"

"Okay," Danny said, taking a deep breath. "So you need to do this. I can accept that. But why are you doing this _alone?_ You think I wouldn't help?"

"I have to do this alone, Danny," he said softly.

"You had to tie yourself to a bed in an empty house?" Danny demanded, and Rusty could hear the fear in his voice. "Where did you get the cuffs?"

"Back in New York," he said quickly.

Danny nodded. "Is this the first time?"

"No," he said, his voice quiet and ashamed. Fourth time, actually. He sighed. "I started off just cuffing my hands together. Set an alarm for five minutes time and turned the clock away, so I couldn't know how long there was to go." That five minutes had seemed like a year at least. He'd thought the alarm clock must've broken, and he'd been _sobbing._ When it had finally gone off, his hand had been shaking so badly he'd barely been able to get the cuffs off. "As long as I keep the key next to my hand its fine."

"It's fine," Danny repeated. "You tying yourself to the bed when you're alone is fine?"

"Danny..." He sighed.

"Anything could have happened. Suppose..." Danny hesitated. "Suppose the TV had caught fire."

He blinked. "When's the last time you saw a TV catch fire?"

"Doesn't matter," Danny said, his jaw clenched, his voice brimming with fear and frustration. "It could happen."

He suddenly realised that it wasn't just fire Danny was worrying about. Danny was imagining someone else walking in. Seeing Rusty tied to the bed and exposed. Seizing the opportunity to have a little fun. And of course, Danny would never want Rusty to have to think of that himself.

But he _had _already thought of that. Of course he had. Every time he did this, he'd imagined it. Dreaded it. But he _knew _he was being paranoid.

"Oh, Danny," he said, reaching up and resting his hand tenderly against Danny's cheek.

"You shouldn't do this stuff alone, Rusty," Danny said, and his voice was cracked. "You don't have to. You never have to."

"I had to," Rusty told him, looking him right in the eyes. "It wouldn't have worked otherwise."

"_Why?_" Danny demanded.

Rusty swallowed hard but didn't look away. "Because I'm not scared if you're here."

For a long moment they just stared at each other.

It was the truth. If he was going to get over his fears, he had to actually be _afraid._

He could see the agony on Danny's face at the idea that he couldn't help Rusty. "I'm – "

Moving quickly, he lightly placed a finger on Danny's lips. " – hush," he commanded. "You really want to apologise for making me feel safe?"

Danny smiled. "No."

"No," Rusty agreed.

"But I don't want you doing this again," Danny added quietly.

He looked at Danny for a long moment. "I need to get over this, Danny."

"I can wait downstairs," Danny argued. "Or even outside. But I'm not leaving you alone." Danny's eyes were determined and he meant every word.

Helplessly, he found himself smiling. "Alright then," he promised. He shook his head. "So, did Lewis go for it," he asked lightly, feeling the need to change the subject.

Danny grinned. "Sixty thousand dollar finders fee. If I don't talk you out of the deal."

Sounded good. "He must really want that slope," he commented. "Gotta wonder why. I mean, is he really planning on skiing down it completely on his own, over and over again?"

"Like someone riding alone on an empty rollercoaster," Danny suggested.

Rusty shook his head at the mental image. "Man needs friends."

"Drink thieves don't deserve friends," Danny said adamantly.

"Nah, drink thieves just don't _have _friends," Rusty argued, sitting down on the sofa with a slight wince. Okay. Tying his bad leg to the bed post might not have been the smartest idea he'd ever had.

"Put it up on the sofa," Danny told him, already walking into the kitchen and sorting out another heat pack.

With a sigh, Rusty obeyed. Seemed like Danny was determined to make a big deal out of this. "So what happens now?" he called. "With Lewis, I mean."

"He's gonna phone you," Danny said.

"So we've got nothing to do until he does?" Rusty checked with a sigh.

Danny stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. "We still haven't agreed if we're going on with this."

"Danny, I'm doing much better," he pointed out patiently.

"You're still hurting," Danny said quietly, bringing him over the heat pack.

He pulled his pants off and pressed it against his hip and it felt good. "It's better," he argued. "What, you want me to spend the rest of the day on this sofa?"

"It's a start," Danny told him.

He looked at Danny for a second and nodded. "Well, we're gonna need pizza. And see what's on the TV."

Danny threw him the remote and reached for the phone.

The day went by fast with pizza and movies and red wine, and they stayed comfortable in the living room as the sun went down.

"I'm sorry," he said softly as Men In Black came to an end and the credits rolled.

Danny didn't look round.

"I've scared you twice today," he went on. That was twice too many and he could still see the look in Danny's eyes when he'd been standing in the doorway.

"Tess called while we were in the bar yesterday," Danny said, his eyes fixed on the TV. "David came by the house looking for you."

He froze. "Huh," he said slowly. He didn't even know how he felt about that. It had been a long time since he'd seen David. "Tess say what he wanted?"

"Not really," Danny told him carefully. "Maybe he's just looking to catch up. See you for your birthday."

Rusty laughed incredulously. "Yeah. I doubt it." He loved Danny's optimism, but that was really pushing it. David hadn't really been a part of his life for a very long time now. He figured he'd seen David five times in the past decade. And maybe Rusty still thought of the older brother who bought him a hotdog and took him to the park to see a meteor shower, but the idea that David was looking for him to wish him a happy birthday...yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

Danny nodded and looked at him sharply. "He doesn't know about – "

" – not unless he's talked to someone in the past few years," Rusty interrupted levelly. David hadn't exactly been anywhere near the forefront of his mind when he'd gone to prison. Maybe if he'd had a number for David that actually connected, or an address that was actually up to date, he might have let David know. But he hadn't.

"Guess he hasn't seen anyone who'd have let him know," Danny commented.

"Or he just didn't mention it to Tess," Rusty pointed out, and he suddenly realised what was wrong with this picture. He bit his lip. "Did Tess lend him any money?"

"No," Danny said immediately.

Uh huh. Rusty looked at him patiently.

"Five hundred," Danny admitted with a grimace.

He nodded. "I'll pay her – "

" – _we'll _pay her back," Danny corrected simply. "Already said I'd go into the bank when we get back."

Right. "Next time you speak to her, tell her I'm sorry, will you?" he asked. His brother was borrowing money off Danny's ex-wife, and that just felt _wrong._

"It's fine," Danny said, and he looked at Rusty carefully. "He left a number."

"Bet you were trying to figure out if you could get away without telling me that, right?" he asked with a grin.

Danny shrugged. "I couldn't. I know that. It's around here somewhere..." He stood up and looked around for a moment and eventually grabbed a beer mat from the kitchen.

Rusty reached out his hand to take it and blinked. "There's another number on your hand," he pointed out, surprised.

"That's something else," Danny said immediately, snatching his hand back and immediately scrubbing the ink off until it was nothing more than a blue blur.

Huh. He watched Danny's face carefully, and Danny shook his head, minutely not inviting any more questions. Right. He let it go for the moment. He looked down at the beer mat instead. Cell phone number.

"No time like the present, I guess," he said lightly, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and dialling the number.

By the tension on Danny's face, Danny wasn't exactly sure he agreed.

The phone rang for long enough that Rusty began to suspect that David just wouldn't answer. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

"Hello?" a voice said at last, sounding cautious and suspicious.

"Hi David," he said, leaning back on the sofa. Somehow, suddenly, he felt absolutely exhausted. "It's Rusty."

"Who...oh, Rusty. I was just thinking of you the other day," David exclaimed.

Uh huh. Presumably when he needed something. "Heard from Tess you were looking for me," he explained. "So what's up? How have you – "

" – oh, yes, I'd forgotten," David interrupted, talking over him. "I was in a spot of trouble. Thought you could help. But luckily I bumped into an old friend and he sorted it for me. So it turns out I don't need you at all."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Rusty nodded. "How are – "

" – listen, Rusty, I'd better go," David interrupted again. "Got a lot on right now. Don't have time for chit chat, I'm afraid. I'll see you around."

"O – " The phone went dead. " – kay," he finished dully.

Danny casually dropped a hand on his shoulder and Rusty sighed, relaxing into the comfort of the touch. Somehow, every conversation he ever had with David left him feeling eleven years old again.

"He in trouble?" Danny asked.

"Nah," Rusty shook his head. "Sounds like someone else already got him out of it."

Danny squeezed his shoulder gently and didn't say anything.

Rusty swallowed hard and swiped a hand across his face. "Wanna watch more Mister Ed?" he suggested.

* * *

Rusty was asleep, which made it the perfect time for Danny to make a phone call. Even better, it was only just after ten, which made it a lot less likely that he was in imminent danger of pissing them off.

He glanced at his phone thoughtfully, trying to decide which of the twins to call. Trouble was, whichever he settled on, the other one would get angry.

Personally he didn't understand it. Not a problem they'd ever run across. Except, he supposed, people generally tended to call one or other of them. Bobby, Linus and Basher always phoned Danny. Saul, Livingston and Frank always called Rusty. Okay, maybe everyone else alternated, but he never got annoyed when people called Rusty instead of him. Huh. He had a feeling he was going to wind up noticing who called who now. Terrific.

Virgil, he decided at last, for no particular reason at all.

The phone barely rang once before it was answered. "Hello-o," a voice sang.

_Turk's _voice. Huh. Oh, well. "Hi, Turk, it's Danny," he said.

There was the sound of a scuffle and shouting in the background. "Is that my phone? Give me back my phone, dickweed!"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, it's only Danny," Turk yelled back.

Only...? Huh. He was hurt.

"Sorry about that, Danny, "Turk crowed into the phone. "Virgil has a _girl_friend."

"Really?" He grinned. "What's she – "

He was interrupted by the sounds of a further scuffle and more shouting, and he waited patiently until there was silence.

"We got that sorted?" he enquired mildly.

"Yeah, you're on speakerphone," Virgil told him.

Huh. That almost counted as a compromise. The twins must be mellowing.

"But it's just us here, so you can say what you like," Turk added.

"Unless there's something you don't want to say to Turk," Virgil cut in quickly. "Since you called _me._"

"Yeah, well, I answered," Turk argued.

"Gentlemen," Danny said with a smile, and there was instant silence. "I'd prefer to talk to both of you."

"Okay. What do you need?" Virgil asked.

"Want you to source a car for me," Danny told them nonchalantly.

"Any particular car?" Turk asked.

"1967 Mustang. Blue, for preference. In as good condition as you can get," he said.

"Isn't that – " Turk began, and there was a muffled sound that might have been an elbow digging into someone's side. "Right. Yeah. We can do that. You want us to throw in the bullet hole?"

He grinned. "Not necessary."

"How legal do you need it?" Virgil asked briskly. "And what's the budget?"

"Not bothered," Danny told him. "And I don't know...how much did we get from Benedict again?"

Turk snorted. "Won't be that much."

Yeah. He didn't think it would be. But he wouldn't care if it _was._ "Whatever it costs plus whatever you think is reasonable for yourselves."

"You don't need to –" Virgil protested.

" – Birthday present," he explained simply. "I do need to."

"Yeah, okay," Virgil conceded. "We'll get right on it. And we'll give you a call when we've got one."

"Thanks, guys," he said smiling. "Talk to you later."

"Bye, Danny," they said in unison, and he could hear the squabble starting as he hung up the phone.

Well that was that taken care of at least. He slumped down on the sofa with a sigh, wondering if it was the _right _thing to do.

Not like it had escaped his notice that Rusty got very quiet every time his birthday was mentioned. Thing was, he couldn't bear the idea of _not _making a fuss.

Six months after they'd met, they'd crashed a surprise party to follow a mark, and he'd got around to asking Rusty when his birthday was.

"Huh?" Rusty blinked, distracted momentarily from his perusal of the plates of cupcakes. "Oh. January 22nd."

Danny stared. "That was five months back," he pointed out, thinking back furiously, and obviously he knew they hadn't done anything, but he couldn't remember Rusty saying anything, couldn't remember Rusty showing any hint he'd seen. And he didn't remember Rusty getting any cards or phone calls either. "You should have said something."

Rusty shrugged uncaringly. "It's just another day, Danny. I don't bother with it."

He thought about everything Rusty had hinted about the last few years and he bit his lip. "You celebrated when you were a kid though, right?" he asked anxiously.

Rusty glanced at him, frowning. "It's just another day," he repeated. "It doesn't _matter._" Danny thought that he could cope better if Rusty was being pragmatic or stoic or whatever, but instead Rusty sounded genuinely puzzled. Confused as to why Danny was asking.

He took a deep breath. "It matters, Rusty," he said simply.

Two months after that, his birthday was greeted with a clumsily wrapped bottle of whisky, a pair of designer sunglasses, dinner at his favourite restaurant, and an uncertain smile.

Four months after _that_, and he'd whisked Rusty away to the most expensive hotel in the city, and he'd taught Rusty the joy of birthday cake, and unwrapping presents, and he still remembered the look of wonder on Rusty's face, still remembered the laughter as Danny had threatened to sing at him, still remembered late at night, reading the silent question in Rusty's eyes and answering it with two simple words. "It matters."

And it still mattered.

Quite simply, there was no way he could let Rusty's birthday go unmarked.

* * *

"_Happy Birthday," Moffatt whispered as he sat down next to him, companionably shoulder to shoulder...The flicker of candlelight. "Time to make a wish. Just put your lips together and blow"...his soul was crying as Moffatt handfed him crumbs of cupcake..."I wanted to share it with you. Birthdays _matter _you know,"...unconsciously he licked the last of the creamy frosting off his lips, and he could taste vanilla and Moffatt was smiling..._

_...a shift in tone. "I've got a surprise for you. You'll _like _this."...The rustle of shiny wrapping paper. The smell of rubber."Make you feel inadequate?" he asked and Moffatt's face darkened. "Reminds me of Mr Felding," he said, and Rusty was going to _pay..._Clothes ripped off...pain. Pain and violation...Moffatt's voice panting in his ear. "Enjoying your birthday present, dear? Just think. I can keep going like this for _hours"..._his head was full of screaming...Flipped onto his back, the taste of rubber and shit overpowering the vanilla, and Moffatt between his legs, thrusting long and leisured...his lungs were on fire and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _breathe, _and he was choking round his birthday present, and Moffatt wasn't stopping and his lungs were on _fire _and...darkness. Peace._

_...Moffatt's frightened eyes on his...pressure inside him, pushing into him...late at night, his own fingers scrabbling inside himself...retching like he was never going to stop...laughter from the surrounding cells...sniggers and stares...limping across the cafeteria and they were taking _bets_...greasy mashed potato, Moffatt's hand on his thigh. "I'm inside you now. You like it."...the doctor's face...shame...A chaste kiss, Moffatt's lips on his...Happy Birthday..._

The phone was ringing. He snapped awake, his fist pressed against his mouth and he was shaking. That had been...the nightmare was getting worse. Same one, over and over again. Except more detailed. More _real. _Even now he was suffused with shame and disgust, and he could still _feel..._still _taste..._

He grabbed his phone and blinked down at it stupidly. It wasn't ringing. Oh. Not _his _phone. Charlie's phone. And that meant it was Lewis calling and he needed to take that. He grabbed the second phone and concentrated on Charlie. How he sounded, what he said. The way he didn't dream horrors. "Hello?" he said brusquely. "You're talking to Charlie. _Who _is this?"

"Charlie, it's Lewis," Lewis said, his voice oily and ingratiating. "I don't know if Curtis told you, but I saw your slope today - sorry you're indisposed, incidentally – and I have to say I'm _very _interested."

"Yeah?" He did his best to sound excited and his fist was twisted tightly in the blankets. "You want to buy it? Curtis said it was a good idea."

"Indeed," Lewis agreed. "Thing is, I'm leaving town tomorrow afternoon, so it would need to be done quickly."

Before Charlie had any time to look for other buyers, he registered, and the sound of blood was still pounding through his head. "Tomorrow morning then," he suggested. "You can come over here."

"No, I don't fancy walking around with that much cash," Lewis said. "You come over to my hotel."

Apparently Lewis had no problem with them carrying that much money. Oh, well. "Shouldn't we negotiate first?" he pointed out, and his heartrate was easing off now, and that was something at least. Made thinking easier.

"Oh, I don't think so," Lewis said contemplatively. "I'll pay you one million dollars. How does that sound?"

Sounded just fine to him. Charlie wouldn't be so pleased. "It's worth ten times that!" he objected at once.

"Not to you," Lewis pointed out, a smirk in his voice. "To you it's worthless. You can't sell it without a buyer willing to pay cash under the table. Of course, if you'd rather just leave it..."

"Alright," he said sulkily. "You've made your point, I'll take it." When selling imaginary property, the price was far from important.

"One million in cash," Lewis confirmed cheerfully. "I'll draw up the contract to say I'm buying the slope for, oh, let's say fifty dollars? I'm sure your ex is welcome to that."

"Her head will probably explode," he agreed, with the air of a man taking comfort in the misfortunes of others.

Lewis chuckled indulgently. "You come round to my hotel tomorrow. It'll take me until noon to get the cash together, so anytime after that."

"Alright then," he agreed. Sounded fine to him. He just wanted out of this conversation, really. "See you then."

"I look forward to it," Lewis said, ringing off.

The phone slipped out of his fingers and landed on the floor. He took a deep breath, practically gulping in oxygen. Seemed like he'd got away with that at least, even though the nightmare was still clinging to him. Actually, focusing on Lewis seemed to have helped. He got a mark phoning him every time he had a nightmare he might just be set.

He glanced over at the other side of the bed. Danny wasn't here and really, Danny should know about Lewis as soon as possible. And that was a pragmatic decision for the sake of the con that had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted Danny...yeah. He wasn't even fooling _himself _with that.

Carefully he got out of bed and was pleasantly surprised to realise that other than a little stiffness, his hip felt just fine. The day of rest and warmth had apparently done him good. Absentmindedly pulling his t-shirt sleeves down to his wrists, making sure as much of him was covered as possible, he padded across the landing to Danny's room.

Huh. Danny wasn't there. In fact, the bed hadn't been slept in. Well, he supposed it must still be early if Lewis had been calling him, and he had gone to bed very early too...Danny was probably still downstairs.

He headed downstairs quickly and was immediately comforted by the sound of the television coming from the living room.

"You alright?" Danny asked, his eyes searching Rusty's face the moment he walked into the room. "You have a nightmare?"

"Yeah," he said, falling gracefully onto the sofa beside Danny. "And then Lewis called. We're on for tomorrow."

Danny dismissed Lewis with a look. "You okay? Want to talk about it?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head with a tired smile. He didn't want Danny to know. Didn't want to see the grief in Danny's eyes. "Just more memories, that's all."

With a reluctant nod, Danny accepted that and he knew Danny wouldn't push him. "So, tomorrow?" Danny asked, just as his phone rang. "Huh. Lewis." He glanced at Rusty significantly and Rusty muted the television and stayed very quiet. "Lewis. Nice to hear from you. Yes...yes...well, I'm glad you're pleased...I'll be there...uh huh...no problem...see you there, Lewis." He hung up the phone.

Rusty looked at him enquiringly.

"I'm to sneak off with Lewis after your meeting to get the finders fee," Danny said with a grin.

Perfect. "Wine?" he suggested, and Danny reached down silently and produced a bottle and poured him a glass.

Huh. "Chocolate?" he asked innocently, and Danny reached behind them and grabbed a paper bag off the table and threw him a couple of Hershey bars.

"Anything else?" Danny asked, his eyes dancing with laughter.

He glanced at the TV. "Marilyn?" he suggested, and Danny picked up the remote and the opening to 'The Seven Year Itch' filled the room.

* * *

The meeting with Lewis went like clockwork. Probably helped that Lewis was in such a hurry to get them out of there – apparently he was catching a flight to Houston at two. Some conference that his tardiness would apparently ruin.

Still, Lewis had the money and the contracts, and they had the titles, and Charlie signed the contracts with ill-grace and took possession of the briefcase of money with a noticeable lightening of mood. "This is more like it!" he proclaimed jubilantly.

"And your wife can't touch it," Lewis told him, signing the contract with a flourish and passing it over to Danny to add his name as a witness.

"Even better," Rusty grinned as Danny signed. "Oh we need to celebrate. Champagne all round, I say. You sure you don't have the time, Lewis?"

Lewis' lip was curled with contempt. "No. No, I really must be going, so if we're done here...?"

"You all finished, Curtis?" Rusty asked boisterously.

"Yes, yes, I think so," he nodded, picking up his empty briefcase. "We'll get out of your way, Lewis. Pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise," Lewis returned, shooting him a look that was full of significance. God, Lewis made a lousy conman. Still, he returned the meaningful look as they left.

The door was still ajar as Danny headed down the corridor and he grinned at Rusty and said "Oh, I think I left my pen in there. I'll see you downstairs, Charlie."

"Yeah, no problem," Rusty said, in a more normal tone of voice, and he smiled at Danny and headed for the elevator.

Danny walked back into Lewis' room, smiling. "I thought that went rather well, didn't you?"

"I get a private slope for a song, you get sixty thousand for doing nothing...I'd call that satisfactory." He laughed. "For everyone except Charlie, that is." He pulled out a second briefcase and passed it over to Danny.

Danny opened it to see more money. Good, good.

"How long do you reckon it'll be till his wife gets the lot off him, do you reckon?" Lewis sniggered. "If I had to guess I'd say he'll be flat broke before the year is out."

"Probably," Danny agreed with a grin, transferring the piles of cash from Lewis' case to his own. He caught Lewis looking at him curiously. "I figured Charlie might get suspicious if I walk out with a case I didn't have before." And Rusty had figured that Lewis might get suspicious if Charlie _didn't _get suspicious,

"I wouldn't count on it," Lewis chortled. "The man's an absolute moron. I'd feel bad for him, but honestly. Some people are so unpleasantly stupid they deserve to lose their money, don't you think?"

Danny grinned. "I couldn't agree more," he said.

He caught up with Rusty downstairs and Rusty smiled at him, and they said nothing, falling into step, in comfortable silence until they'd deposited the money at the bank.

"So that's that," Danny said with a sigh. "What do you say we head back to the cabin, pack up and get out of here?"

"Might as well," Rusty nodded. "We – "

He was interrupted by the sound of Danny's phone beeping. He glanced at it. Picture message from Turk. He opened it and smiled to see a very familiar looking car, with the simple words "Got it."

"Anything interesting?" Rusty asked, his face alive with curiosity.

"Yeah," Danny said simply, and Rusty groaned with frustration as he put his phone away. "Come on. I'll buy you a hot chocolate before we go."

"In the circumstances there'd better be marshmallows," Rusty muttered sulkily.

Danny grinned and walked towards the coffee shop and nearly collided with the woman walking out of it. "Excuse me...oh!"

It was Jessica.

He smiled with a hint of apology and a little regret. "Hi," he said quietly.

"Hello, handsome," she smiled. "No mask today, I see. How's everything with Hutton?"

He could feel Rusty's eyes on the side of his face. "Just fine," he said lightly.

She sighed melodramatically. "I don't know...you'll spend time with a weasel like that, but you won't even call me. A girl can be hurt by that sort of thing."

He bit his lip. "I told you I wouldn't."

"I know, Danny." She looked at him and shook her head. "I should have gone with the blackmail option after all," she commented. "Give me a call if you change your mind. Tonight could be the best night of your life. Or at least the most...invigorating."

She blew him a kiss and he watched her walk away.

After a moment, Rusty cleared his throat. "Come on," he said, taking Danny by the arm and leading him inside.

Moments later and Danny was sitting down, staring into his coffee, trying to persuade himself that the tight feeling in his chest wasn't regret.

"That was the woman who was standing next to you at the airport," Rusty commented quietly. "I noticed you noticing her at the time."

"Her name's Jessica," Danny told him. "I bumped into her yesterday. On the cable car. We got talking."

"She knew about Lewis," Rusty said, and there was an edge to his voice.

Danny shook his head quickly. "She doesn't know anything, really. Think she thought we were cops or PIs or something. She saw us with him and without him and managed to spot the difference."

"Right," Rusty put his hot chocolate down on the table, and studied Danny carefully. "So why haven't you called her?"

"Because I don't want to call her," Danny said mildly.

"Yes, you do," Rusty said softly.

Oh, that wasn't fair. He wasn't even sure how he felt, so how could Rusty be so certain? And yet if he was operating off instinct..."Yeah," he agreed. "But it's more complicated than that."

Rusty bit his lip uncomfortably. "Danny...if it's because of me..."

"No," he said immediately, and they could both hear the lie. Because yes, of course, that was a consideration. He didn't want to trigger Rusty's insecurities, but more than that, he didn't think it was exactly a good idea for Rusty to be confronted with the fact that Danny had a sex life, or wanted one. He still thought about Rusty offering himself to Danny, still remembered Rusty's hand on him, and the blank hell in Rusty's eyes. The last thing that he wanted was to give Rusty any reason to be uncertain.

"It's not you," he said again. "It's not _just _you."

There was a pause and Rusty was looking at him. "What, then?"

Danny sighed. "I don't know if I'm ready. You know the last time I had sex with a woman who wasn't Tess?"

"New Years Eve, 1993," Rusty answered promptly.

Danny turned to stare at him. "Rhetorical question, Rus'," he pointed out with a sigh.

"Sorry," Rusty said insincerely. "You don't feel ready to date, though? Danny...'s been eighteen months. Maybe this is something you need to do."

He glanced back down at his coffee. "I don't know."

"You like her," Rusty persisted. "Don't you?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"Look, I'm not suggesting you spend the rest of your life with her," Rusty said slowly. ""I'm just saying that maybe one night isn't such a bad idea."

"Huh." Danny frowned, and he didn't know.

Rusty reached across the table and laid his hand lightly on Danny's. "Danny.. don't do this. You're shutting yourself off from the world and it's not good for you." Danny blinked, staring up at Rusty incredulously. _Really?_ Rusty gave a half-smile. "Exactly. I _know,_Danny, and I don't want you to hurt yourself. If not here...if not her, that's fine. But don't deny the possibility altogether."

He sighed. "I ever mention how much I hate it when you talk sense?"

Rusty grinned. "I'm celibate. I'm not stupid."

"You think I should go out with her?" Danny asked.

"Do you want to go out with her?" Rusty countered.

"Yeah," he admitted at last. He did. He really did.

"Okay then," Rusty said with a shrug, as if it was just that simple.

""But we're leaving town, remember?" Danny pointed out. It wasn't going to be possible and that was a relief. "We need to clear out of here before Lewis realises he's been conned."

Rusty shook his head quickly. "Lewis is going to that convention in Houston. He won't be able to check _anything _till he's back. We can stay another night."

"I lost her number though," he said, and now he sounded a little regretful.

"303-402-1927," Rusty answered promptly.

He looked at Rusty for a long moment. "Huh." That was the last of the reasons he had not to call.

"I'll go get us some more drinks," Rusty offered quietly.

He waited until Rusty had walked away, and then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialled the number. She answered almost immediately. "Hi, Jessica, it's Danny. I – "

" – Changed your mind?" she asked, a sultry smile in her voice.

He grinned. "Yes, actually. Am I too late to take you up on it?"

"Mmmm," she said thoughtfully. "Let me think now. I have to admit that I'm not used to being called at the last minute." Her voice was teasing and full of warmth.

"Well, I'm all about the spontaneous," he said, smiling. "Last minute plans are often the most exciting."

"Exciting, huh? Sounds like you're giving yourself a lot to live up to," she said, her voice soft. "Think you can handle it?"

"Think _you _can?" he shot back, amused.

"I think I'm willing to give it a try," she said. "So what do you think? Dinner?"

"Know any good restaurants?" he asked. She was the one with the local knowledge.

"One or two," she allowed "What do you like?"

"Lots of things," he told her. "You pick. Surprise me."

"Mmm," she mused. "How about The Baby Grand?"

"Sounds..." He considered. "Piano-y."

"You said you liked lots of things," she pointed out. "Eight o'clock?"

"I'll see you there," he promised.

"I look forward to it," she said. "Until tonight?"

"Until tonight," he agreed.

He sat perfectly still for a long moment, staring into space. What exactly had he gotten himself into?

* * *

Rusty lay back on the bed and waited for Danny to come out of the bathroom.

Getting ready for a date had apparently got a little more difficult in the past eight years or so. It was almost enough to make him wonder if he'd misread the situation. Maybe Danny was a whole lot more serious about Jessica than he'd thought.

"Did I pack my other shirt?" Danny yelled through to him.

He grinned. Or possibly this was just nerves. When Danny had first been seeing Tess, clothes had been nowhere in his mind.

"Which other shirt?" he called back amiably. "The one with – "

" – no! The _other _other one," Danny clarified.

Right. Shaking his head, he stood up leisurely and searched through the wardrobe. They both packed light but...ah. Navy blue shirt.

He draped it casually over his arm and walked out of the bedroom. The bathroom door was a jar and Danny's arm reached out and grabbed the shirt. "Thanks."

"Can I get you anything else?" he asked, grinning. "Tuxedo? Top hat? Pearl necklace? Glass of whisky?"

Danny made a rude gesture at him.

He grinned and headed back to the bedroom and jumped back onto the bed, bouncing a couple of times before landing onto his back. With a grimace, he pressed his hand onto his hip. Might have been a bit of a mistake. Maybe he should start being more careful. Start acting his age.

Couple of weeks time and it'd be his birthday. Somehow, his thoughts kept coming back to that.

Birthdays. What a strange idea. He remembered being a kid, and David had taken him to the park in the snow, gave him a baseball and half a hot dog, and told him he was six now. He hadn't exactly understood what that meant, and he'd asked David, and David had just shrugged awkwardly. Far as Rusty could tell, he didn't know either. They'd played catch for a half hour or so, until David had to go play with his friends, and Rusty went home to Mom and her latest boyfriend, and that had been a..._fun_...evening. When David had finally come home, hours later, he'd glanced at Rusty's black eye guiltily and played eye spy with him for a couple of hours, until Rusty fell asleep. Three days later, Billy Travers had punched Rusty in the mouth and taken his baseball back, and Rusty had figured that birthdays were stupid, fleeting things.

David had made an effort most years after that. At least every second year there'd be something. A not-quite-stale muffin, a packet of chalk, a couple of X-Men comics with the covers torn off...something to make him happy. And then David had left the week before Rusty's eleventh birthday, and after that there had been no more birthdays.

Not until Danny, anyway. Not until Danny came along with presents and cake and happiness, and he hadn't asked Danny what it all meant, but Danny had smiled at him and told him it mattered.

(_Moffatt had told him his birthday mattered too._)

Danny appeared in the doorway. "You seen – "

He reached over to the nightstand and threw Danny the cufflinks.

"Thanks," Danny smiled as he fastened them quickly. He lay down on the bed beside Rusty, rolling onto his stomach and regarding him seriously. "Are you sure you're okay with this, Rus'?"

He smiled. "I want you – "

" – _not _the question I asked," Danny interrupted levelly.

"I told you to call her," he reminded Danny patiently.

Danny propped himself up onto one elbow and his eyes were dark. "You don't exactly have a clean track record on prioritising what's good for you."

He looked at Danny. If he said that he wasn't comfortable then Danny would cancel the date right now. The thought filled him with equal parts warmth and frustration and he didn't _want _Danny to cancel. "I'm fine," he promised. "Really. " Wasn't like he wanted to know any details, but he was pretty certain he could deal with the knowledge that Danny was on a date. "I'll watch some TV. Go have fun."

"Rusty." Danny's voice was serious. "You won't - "

" - no," he promised instantly. "No handcuffs. I swear it."

Danny contemplated him for a long moment before nodding and getting to his feet. "Don't wait up," he told Rusty gravely.

Rusty grinned and silently bet himself Danny would text him at least three times over the evening

* * *

.

So far Danny thought that things were going well.

He'd got there five minutes before she did. Enough time to relax, to enjoy the atmosphere of the place. Sophisticated, but not stiff. Once upon a time this was just the sort of place that he and Tess would have loved. He bit his lip; Tess was the _last _person he should be thinking about right now.

With a sigh, he texted Rusty quickly, just to check that everything was fine, and he got a ';)' back in return. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Jessica walked in at one minute past eight, and sauntered straight over to him. Little black dress, and her hair swept up high and off her face in a way that looked casually, carelessly elegant.

"Hi," he smiled warmly, standing up while she took her seat. "You look fantastic."

There was a suggestion of a pleased smile and her eyes wandered over him. "My. Don't you scrub up nicely? I wouldn't have thought you could _get _any more handsome."

"You should see me in a tux," he told her gravely.

"I'm not sure the world would cope," she answered immediately. She looked at him carefully. "I was surprised when you called, you know. I'd more or less given up."

"A friend told me I should give it a try," he said, smiling.

She nodded. "You'd better know what you're doing."

His smile froze. "Of course, Jess..." He cleared his throat. "Jessica," he corrected himself.

For a moment she looked at him oddly, but thankfully the awkwardness faded and they ordered wine and talked and laughed. She was a photojournalist, and seemed like she'd travelled more than Danny, which was almost unheard of, but it meant they could talked about the cities they loved best, and he told her about Florence, and wandering around the shops and markets, watching them make pietre dure, drinking espresso and eating gelati in the piazza while the people walked by. Later they talked about the worst mistranslations they'd encountered, and she was giggling as she told him about the sign in the hotel in Czechoslovakia which warned her that since having men in hotel rooms was improper, the lobby could be used for the purpose. "Little public," she suggested, and he laughed. And they talked about the worst airports to get stuck in, and they both agreed that Manila and Luton were bad, but if you had to spend more than two hours in LAX, you might as well write the whole trip off as a dead loss. No matter what you were doing,, at that point it just wasn't worth it.

Food arrived, and she looked from her slow roast pork belly to his venison casserole and promptly attacked his plate with a fork, stealing a mouthful effortlessly.

"Or you could have asked," he smiled, amused, and it was the sort of little, teasing moment that once upon a time he might have shared with Tess.

She shrugged. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Theft is fun."

"Don't I know it," he said, eying her plate thoughtfully.

"Oh, no," she giggled, shaking her head and pulling her food away from him. "This is all mine."

He smiled endearingly. "Come on, let me have a – " He stopped dead, his eyes fixed behind her. Automatically she turned round, and with an exclamation of triumph he struck, stealing a forkful of pork and a roast potato for good measure.

She groaned. "I don't believe I fell for that," she said, shaking her head. "What sort of man is so convincing at stealing food?"

"A man with years of practice," he told her dryly, and he was telling her about Rusty...nothing serious, nothing private, but the lighthearted, the brilliantly ridiculous...days that they'd travelled to another country just to get to the right patisserie, the look on Rusty's face when he explained about the trouser press and the English muffins, the chicken soup – made from real chickens – that Danny swore could be patented as a cure for the common cold. Stories that were about fun and good times and caring and friendship, and he left out the darkness and the illegal.

Jessica's eyes were soft as she listened. A long time ago, he'd told Tess these same stories.

And she told him about trips she'd had, stories she'd covered...she talked about how strange it was to live somewhere for six months and always be the outsider with the camera, and about how she'd once trekked forty miles across country in two days because the last of her film had been destroyed and she'd needed more in time for the march, and about sneaking out of Belize in the back of a truck with a one-armed beggar named Jesus.

Seemed the conversation didn't pause until the last bite of tarte au pomme was long gone, and they were lingering on amid candlelight and Irish coffee.

"So what now?" she asked.

"Blunt," he approved.

She smiled. "I prefer forthright."

He nodded. "Blunt people normally do."

"I've a wonderful time tonight," she said after a second.

"So have I," he said, and he was almost surprised to realise it was true. Somehow he'd expected this to be much harder to get used to.

"I'm leaving in the morning," she added. "Mexico. I'm doing a piece on rural immigration...I'll be gone six months at least."

"I'm leaving tomorrow too," he told her. "Our job is finished here...probably I'm heading back to New York first, then I don't know. The Bahamas, maybe."

"And you're not looking for anything complicated," she said softly.

"And I can't have anything complicated," he agreed.

She nodded slowly. "I don't want to regret this anymore than I know I'm going to. So in a moment I'm going to ask you back to my place, and I'm hoping you're going to say yes."

"Yes," he said at once.

"I haven't asked you yet," she pointed out dryly.

"I wanted to lose the mystery," he explained.

She smiled. "Let's get out of here."

They did. Danny settled the bill and texted Rusty while she wasn't looking, and the response was quick enough to assuage any guilt he might feel.

She lived nearby. A house on the outskirts of town, beautifully furnished and the photographs on the wall were breathtaking.

She caught him looking at one of downtown Rio as she came back into the room with a couple of glasses of wine, and smiled. "You like?"

"Oh, yes," he agreed at once. "Absolutely amazing. Looks _alive._"

"I've got some more in that series downstairs," she told him eagerly. "Would you like to see?"

He nodded at meant it. Really, her work was fantastic.

He followed her downstairs into a darkroom. "They're in the back," she called, hurrying around the corner. "I was exhibiting them for a week a month or so back, and I never got round to doing anything else with them."

Danny wasn't really listening. He was staring at the line of photographs, hanging to dry.

"I thought I had a buyer for a while, but all that fell through," she added.

One photograph. He stared at it and the fury was burning through his soul.

"You have any idea how annoying it is to work your butt off, trying to charm someone, and then they just decide they're not...are you alright?" She walked back into the room, smiling uncertainly. "You're being very..." She saw what he was looking at. "Oh."

The photo was of Rusty. Some unguarded, unknowing moment, and Danny could read the physical pain on his face, could see the hellish blankness in his eyes, lost in a moment of pain and misery and bleak memory. Danny had seen that look far too often. Haunted and fragile and vulnerable, and even if it was gone from Rusty's eyes most of the time now, even a second was too long. And the idea that she'd seen it and immediately wanted to take a picture...it was a violation. And worse; he'd _liked _her.

"I think I should go now," he said woodenly. "Goodnight, Jessica."

"Wait." She stood in front of him, blocking his way. "Look...I'm sorry, Danny. I really, truly am. It's what I do. Something catches my eye...something interests me...I take a photo of it. Simple as that."

"_Interests_ you," Danny repeated, his lip curled.

She closed her eyes briefly. "Bad choice of words," she agreed. "I wasn't trying to hurt your friend. I wasn't trying to hurt _you._ Most of my photos never see the light of day. Believe me, no one else has seen this."

It wasn't who else had seen it, it was the fact that it existed at all that hurt. Like there weren't enough photos of Rusty out there. Photographs he couldn't control, taken without consent or knowledge.

She reached behind him and grabbed the photograph off the line and thrust it into his hand. "Here. Destroy it. Please."

He looked at her.

"I'll give you the negatives," she went on. "I'll find any other picture I took of you. I'm _sorry, _Danny."

The photograph was in his hand.

He looked down at it for a long moment, almost choking in the grief. After all this time...after everything that had happened, Rusty still looked like that. God. He wanted Rusty to heal. Maybe he wasn't doing enough. He should be trying Rusty. Should be helping Rusty more. He wasn't _enough._

"Here," Jessica said quietly, a pile of photographs and negatives in her hand. "Maybe you should look at this one too."

The photograph on the top of the pile showed Rusty in another unguarded moment, but he was looking at Danny and his eyes were full of warmth and love and joy, and the smile shone out of the photograph.

"I took that two seconds after the first one," Jessica told him softly. "You make him happy."

He nodded, not quite able to speak.

"That's everything I've got," she said. "Destroy them...keep anything you want...it's up to you." She shrugged awkwardly. "You want to look around...search to make sure I haven't kept anything back, feel free."

"You haven't," he said, looking at her with absolute certainty. Now the initial shock had worn off he could hear the absolute sincerityin her promises and her apologies. She hadn't been trying to hurt him or take advantage, and his reaction had probably come as a shock to her. Something to walk back, if he could. "I'm sorry. You've probably got a few suspicions about what I do. Suffice to say, having too many photographs out there is – "

He was interrupted when she leaned forwards and kissed him, and for a moment everything else faded away, and her hands were on his shoulder, and her mouth was soft and warm, and after a second he put his arms around her and she stepped in closer. The kiss deepened. And it lasted forever.

She smiled at him as she stepped back. "I'm going to kiss you very time you lie."

"I'm not sure that's exactly discouraging," Danny told her. "And I didn't lie."

There was a pause and she glanced down at the photos still in his hand. "He's been...ill, hasn't he?"

That probably depended on how they were defining _ill. _But by the hesitation, by the look in her eyes, she already knew that.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Something like that."

She nodded slowly. "The picture...I've seen that look before." She looked away from purposefully. "I've covered a lot of stories in a lot of bad places. I did this whole thing on survivors a couple of years back...war, crime, natural disasters, RTAs...you name it."

Survivors. Yeah, that was Rusty. He looked at her and didn't say anything. He wasn't volunteering details. And she wasn't asking.

"You've texted him four times tonight," she commented.

Five. But who was counting.

"And you can't do anything complicated." She reached out and took his hand. "You're a very good friend. You know that?"

He opened his mouth, ready to say something light and distracting.

"I left him," he said instead, his voice hoarse. "I left him for four years when things were..." He shook his head blindly. "You can't even _imagine_." Carson's words were echoing in his head again. He'd let Rusty take the fall for what he'd done. He hadn't even tried to save him. He'd left Rusty in hell for four years. "And then when he came back, I let it go on for so long before I even tried to help him. I...I let him get hurt."

There was concern in her eyes, and she reached out and pulled him close, holding him against herself. "Oh, Danny," she murmured.

For a long time he enjoyed the comfort of the moment as the guilt and pain roared through him, and she kissed him, lightly and tenderly and insistently.

"Sorry," he said presently. "I don't even know why I – "

" – sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger," she interrupted, squeezing his hand. "Have you told him?"

"He knows," Danny said immediately. After all, Rusty had been there. He knew what had happened.

"Does he know how you feel about it?" she pressed.

He hesitated, remembering incongruously Saul's voice. _Sometimes people need the words. _"I don't think I want him to," he said at last. They hadn't talked about four years ago. Not really. And yes, the weight of the guilt and the regret crushed him a little, but when he remembered what Rusty had done, when he remembered the way Rusty had _smiled _when he said 'Then I guess we're done'...oh, truth be told, there was still a little anger there and he _hated _that. And he didn't want to burden Rus' with any of his feelings, let alone risk exposing him to the anger.

"Maybe he's the one who needs to hear about it," she said, still holding him by the hand.

In response, he leaned down and kissed her again, warm and passionate and inviting. A second and her arms snaked around him, and the kiss grew deep and urgent.

"You want to head upstairs?" she murmured in his ear.

Oh, yes. He really did.

* * *

Rusty spent the evening looking for something to occupy his time. He watched a couple of old episodes of The Avengers, and found himself wondering just how possible it was to get a hidden message into a set of traffic lights. A long time ago, Danny had suggested that a lot of people would be prepared to do all _sorts _of things if they thought they were helping a real secret agent. Everyone wanted to be James Bond, right? Might just be worth looking into some more.

He watched two episodes of The Avengers and the opening of Lawn Dogs, though he turned it off sharply when Sam Rockwell got naked, and Danny had texted twice and he smiled and replied immediately both times. Part of him wondered exactly what Danny thought was going to _happen? _The rest of him knew that if he asked, Danny could think of dozens of things. Hundreds. Enough horrific possibilities that Danny would never let him out of his sight again.

He was glad Danny was dating though. From everything Danny had said, Jessica seemed fun. Rusty thought maybe this would be good for him. Not like he didn't know that Danny still missed Tess. And that was understandable and he thought that maybe Danny always would, but he didn't want that to cast a shadow over the rest of Danny's life. And certainly he wanted them to be sure that he wasn't holding Danny back in any way.

Now all he had to do was hope that Danny had a good time.

After staring at the blank TV for a while, he phoned Saul. Not for any particular reason, just to chat, and somehow he ended up staying on the phone for almost an hour. Somehow he thought that probably left him looking less than manly. Oh, well, not like Saul would ever care.

And now it was coming on for midnight and Danny had texted another three times and by the sound of things he wouldn't be back tonight. Which was good. Honestly. He glanced over his shoulder towards the stairs. Looked...far. Shaking his head, he turned the TV back on and found a channel showing incomprehensible Brazilian soaps and fell asleep to the sound of people arguing about soft ball in Portuguese.

His sleep was restless and filled with vague, familiar dreams, but thankfully he wasn't comfortable enough for them to develop into the full nightmare.

Footsteps. An amused sigh. He struggled out of sleep in time to smile up at Danny as a blanket was carefully draped over him. "Have a good time?" he asked sleepily.

"I told you not to wait up," Danny scolded mildly.

"Do I look up?" he answered.

"Not so much," Danny allowed, absently tucking the blanket around him, and he smelled of unfamiliar soap. "And yes, I had a good time." His voice sounded reflective. Almost wondering.

"'s good," Rusty smiled. "Gonna see her again?"

Danny shook his head immediately. "That was never on the table."

Oh. He didn't want to admit to the guilty jolt of relief that shot through him. Whatever he wanted to think, he really didn't want to share Danny right now. He opened his eyes a little more. Huh. It was still dark. "Time is it?" he wondered.

"Just before six," Danny told him, banking up the fire.

Rusty blinked at him.

"Jessica had to catch an early flight," he explained. "Needs to make a connection to Mexico City at ten."

Oh. "Sorry," he murmured sympathetically. Not the way Danny would want things to end.

"'s okay," Danny said with a crooked smile. "I wanted to get back anyway."

Why...oh. His eyes flickered over to his phone. "Five times," he said, in a voice that was quite happy to call Danny an idiot.

Danny smiled and didn't look like he minded at all. "Figure we catch a few more hours sleep and head for the airport. What do you think?"

"Sleep is good," he told Danny seriously, rolling over and burrowing deeper into the sofa.

He was vaguely aware of Danny's soft laughter as he fell asleep again.

* * *

On the whole it had been a good night. He and Jessica had made the most of their time together and it had been breathtaking and fantastic and he could still feel the warmth and the wonder in every inch of his being.

Still, he hadn't been that sorry when Jessica's alarm clock started singing at half four and with kisses and apologies and more kisses, he was bundled first into the shower and then out the door.

He'd taken the photographs with him. They were on the fire now. Burning away to nothing.

Really, he had to admit he hadn't been that surprised to see Rusty sleeping on the sofa. Hadn't exactly been sorry when Rusty woke up enough to talk briefly either. He might have enjoyed himself this evening but the urge to get back to Rusty had never completely faded.

They'd talked and Rusty had fallen asleep again and Danny had laughed and shook his head and curled up on the chair, almost close enough to touch. Everything he'd never meant to tell Jessica was still echoing in his head. Their separation felt a little closer than it had in a long time and it left him on edge and unsettled and disinclined to let Rusty out of his sight.

And still he'd dozed. Exhaustion did that.

A soft gasp and a breathless whimper and he was awake in a moment, his head snapping up and staring over towards the sofa. Rusty was scrunched up on the sofa, arm covering his face, as if even in his sleep he was trying to hide the pain he was feeling.

"No...I don't...get it _out." _

"Rusty?" He was on his feet and the hand he laid on Rusty's arm was gentle but insistent. "Rus', I'm here. You're alright. Wake up now."

Rusty shrank back, trying to get away from him, his eyes still closed, mumbling something frightened and incoherent and _'Birthday'_ was the only word that Danny caught.

He carried on trying to shake Rusty awake, making sure he wasn't touching Rusty in any way that Rusty's subconscious could misinterpret. "Rus', it's alright. I'm here and you're safe. I'm here."

With a stifled cry of agony and hatred, Rusty's eyes flew open and he launched himself off the sofa, and Danny caught his wrist just before the punch would have connected.

For a long moment they just stood there, looking at each other, and Rusty's face was inches from his, sickeningly pale. His eyes slid from Danny's face to the wrist Danny was still holding. "Thanks," he said jerkily, and there was a world of horrified apology and gratitude wrapped up in the word.

Danny changed his grip, moving the gesture from restraint to comfort. "'s okay," he said. "You woke up the moment you woke up. Just you woke up frightened."

He could see the relief in Rusty's eyes, and that was understandable. This hadn't been a flashback and Rusty hadn't got lost in his own head, this had just been a normal nightmare. Of course, personally Danny thought a 'normal' nightmare was bad enough.

"Yeah...same one," Rusty said shakily, and his breathing was still to harsh and ragged, and his body was shot through with tension, like he was fighting the instincts that told him to run and hide.

"Exercises," Danny murmured, and Rusty shot him a look, but a second later his hand was flat against his chest and his eyes were closed, and he was struggling successfully to control his breathing.

Danny watched him for a few moments, until Rusty was calm enough to smile and say "You don't need to stare," without opening his eyes. He grinned and went and poured a couple of glasses of whisky, and a while later Rusty joined him on the sofa.

"Better?" Danny asked and Rusty nodded and sipped his drink. "You've been having a lot of nightmares since we got here," he commented quietly.

"Yeah," Rusty said, noncommittally.

Danny nodded. "You think it's because of your hip?" Physical pain. He could see how that might translate to nightmares.

Rusty looked startled then thoughtful, like the idea hadn't occurred to him. "No," he said at last, slowly. "No, I don't think so."

Right. That had been his first guess. He swallowed hard."Is it because of me?" Because he'd dated Jessica, and he'd reminded Rusty that he was a man too, that he might want some of the things that Rusty was afraid of, that he might be just like the man in the bar.

"No!" Rusty said immediately. "No, it started before I even knew about Jessica, remember?"

That was true, and he felt a little easier to hear it, but it still didn't answer his question. "You were talking in your sleep," he said reluctantly. "Said something about birthdays."

The look of horror on Rusty's face told him that he'd wandered far too close to something true.

"In fact," he went on slowly. "You've been being very quiet about your birthday altogether. Rusty, what's bothering you?"

Rusty sighed and looked away. "Maybe it's because I'm gonna be thirty-six. And my hip aches in cold weather."

God. He took a deep breath and laid his hand on Rusty's arm. He could hear the exhaustion and the hurt in Rusty voice. "But that's not what you're having nightmares about," he said, with soft certainty.

"No," Rusty admitted, leaning forwards, his head dropping into his hands.

"Tell me?" he asked softly. "Please, Rus'."

Rusty lifted his hand and for a long moment he just looked at Danny. "I don't want to," he said quietly.

He bit his lip. "Maybe you need to," he suggested. Because Rusty had said it was the same dream. And it wasn't showing any sign of going away.

"It'll hurt," Rusty warned, looking directly at him, and Rusty knew that it wasn't _himself _that Rusty was worried about hurting. A new revelation that would hurt Danny. Like they hadn't _all _hurt.

Rusty was still looking at him and he could see the acknowledgement in his eyes and when the voice came it was barely a whisper. "Last year on my birthday, I think I died."

That wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear. That could _never _be what he expected to hear. Rusty had _died? _"How?" he managed to ask hoarsely. "Tell me everything." He needed to know everything.

Another sigh and Rusty glanced away. "Didn't even realise it was my birthday, really. All the days blend together after a while. Not like it really makes a difference."

"No tally marks on the walls?" Danny asked, with something that might once have passed for lightness.

"Graffiti is strictly discouraged," Rusty told him. And there would be no end point in sight. The thought didn't need to be said aloud to be shared and understood. Danny could feel the hopeless and the unending. "I was grabbed by a couple of guys. I knew them, they'd been part of his...gang...before. A couple of times. Nothing special about them, the sort that just saw me as an alternative to jerking off, you know?"

This was what fury tasted like. Rusty caught sight of his face.

"Yes, I _know, _Danny. They raped me. I understand that, don't worry. I'm just saying they weren't the sort to take any initiative. Weren't going to hurt me for the sake of hurting me. It was unusual, and they tied me up and dumped me against the wall in this little room and left me there alone. Fully clothed. And that was really weird. Not the routine."

He nodded tersely, and he could imagine the confusion, the apprehension, and he moved closer to Rusty, offering all the comfort he could.

"He came in maybe about ten minutes later," Rusty continued. "Sat down beside me, shoulder to shoulder like...like you're doing now."

Immediately, horrified, Danny jumped away, and Rusty's hand was on his arm, pulling him back.

"Sorry," Danny whispered.

"_Not _the same," Rusty said with level insistence. "I'm just saying he was being...intimate, I guess. Friendly." His face twisted. "And then he wished me happy birthday, and smiled and brought out this cupcake with a fucking candle sticking out of it."

"He knew it was your birthday?" Danny asked, frowning.

Rusty shrugged. "He knew all sorts of stuff. And my birthdate would be on my file anyway."

Which suggested that the monster had access to Rusty's file. He didn't let the thought register on his face. "He gave you a cake?" he asked.

"Yeah. Made me blow out the candles too. 's easy. Just put my lips together and _blow._" There was disgust in Rusty's voice. Blindly he reached out and squeezed Rusty's hand tightly. Soothing, promising god-knows-what, but it didn't matter, because anything Rusty wanted, Danny would get and they both knew it.

Rusty took a deep breath. "Then he broke the cake into pieces. Fed it to me a bit at a time. His fingers were in my mouth, and he was talking to me all the time. Telling me how his sister had got the cake smuggled in for him. That it came from this little bakery he used to go to when he was a kid. The cake...it tasted _good _Danny. It was fresh and moist and it tasted good. And he told me that he wanted to do something nice for me, cos it was my birthday and no one else cared, and birthdays _matter._" Rusty's voice cracked on the last word.

And Danny found himself in the unbearable position of having to agree with the monster. "Birthdays do matter," he said unsteadily. "But he...he...he didn't have the right to _talk _to you. He shouldn't have got to breathe the same air."

For the briefest of moments, Rusty looked amused. "Don't hold back, say what you really think," he murmured.

He didn't want to think about how the bastard had crawled inside Rusty's head. Not like he didn't know all the damage he'd left behind. And they still hadn't got _close _to the awful place this conversation had started in. Rusty had _died..._ "What did he do then?"

"He got me a present too," Rusty said, with a shrug and a deadened grin. "What's a birthday without presents, right? So stupid. Like the cake and the conversation weren't surreal enough. It was even wrapped in this shiny paper. There was a fucking _bow..._and he had this smile on his face and he said 'I've got a_ surprise _for you. You'll _like_ this_._'"

East coast accent, Danny noted clinically. A breathy, wheedling tone. Wouldn't be exact – Rusty wasn't a perfect mimic or anything - but it would be _close. _Another couple of details in the jigsaw.

And more than that, he could hear the memory of the heady anticipation.

"He tore the paper off himself," Rusty went on. "Not like he was stupid enough to untie my hands to let me do it. And he held it up. It was this..." He screwed his eyes shut for a second, shame written all over his face. "It was this...rubber _toy._"

For a second Danny didn't understand and then his mind caught up and supplied the images and the horror and his hand was pressed against his mouth, like he was trying to keep the screaming inside. "He...he..."

Rusty wouldn't look at him, and his cheeks were flushed with humiliation. "I said something stupid. Something about it making him feel inadequate. He didn't like that. Guess I don't need to spell out what happened next, do I?"

No. No, he didn't. Danny could _imagine._

"Went on for four hours," Rusty added vacantly. "He must've paid someone to look the other way, I guess. Cos neither of us was where we were supposed to be, and no one ever said anything after."

"Four hours," Danny said, his voice hoarse. Four hours of...of _that._

"He wanted to make sure I enjoyed my birthday present thoroughly," Rusty said, his shoulders hunched and his head down.

"That wasn't a present!" Danny snapped, revulsion in the sound.

Startled, Rusty looked over at him. "I know, Danny. Well, it was a present, but not a kindness. He...hurt me...for all that time. And he enjoyed it. Ended up with him on top of me, and while he was...while he _was _he shoved the present down my throat. It tasted..._fuck, _I can still taste it, Danny. He kept thrusting...kept looking me in the eyes. I couldn't breathe. I choked, and gasped for breath and struggled and he watched me dying."

There was a special place in hell waiting for that monster. And that still wasn't enough.

"Fucking undignified way to die," Rusty added and he actually laughed, short and dark.

Danny didn't. Rusty had died. Rusty had _died. _"You sure – "

" – yeah. I think so. Couldn't breathe, everything went dark...I woke up and my chest was bruised and aching...there was a pain in my cheek, like he'd slapped me, and he was staring and there was fear in his eyes." Rusty studied the backs of his hands for a moment. "Only time I ever saw him frightened. But he would be, you see. He knew I would never tell anyone what he did to me. But if I died...people would sit up and take notice. Questions would be asked. Someone would rat him out and he'd be in trouble. Couple more years on his sentence at least."

"He'd be dead," Danny said savagely.

Rusty looked up at him and for a second Danny thought he'd misunderstood. Thought he might actually argue. "Yeah. Well. He didn't know that, did he? Besides. He saved my life."

"He _killed _you," Danny corrected.

"That too," Rusty nodded.

Seemed as though Rusty was done talking. And that was horror enough and Danny could see how it had overwritten everything, how nightmare and memory had imprinted themselves over every birthday Rusty had ever had and yet...and yet..."What else?" he asked, his mouth dry.

Rusty sighed. "Isn't that enough?"

Yes. God, a thousand times yes. "Is it?" he asked softly. "Sometimes talking stops the nightmare."

"Doesn't do much for yours," Rusty pointed out.

"I can cope," Danny told him dismissively. He wanted to know. Wanted to know what he'd _missed._

"You had a nice evening," Rusty said quietly.

"Don't," Danny warned.

Rusty ignored him. "You really want to hear this? You have a nice evening, meet a nice girl, and then you come back and have to deal with my shit?"

He sighed. It had been a while since Rusty had tried pushing him away. "It's not a question of – "

" – I know," Rusty interrupted. "I'm just saying maybe not this and not tonight."

And if that had really been Rusty's reasoning, Danny could have accepted that. Maybe. But he could see the desperate, shamed embarrassment, could see the way Rusty wasn't meeting his eyes. He reached out and brushed his fingers against Rusty's cheek, soft and tender and forgiving, and it was like a signal. The breath was quiet and shuddering, an almost-sob, and Rusty leaned forwards, his face pressed against the crook of Danny's neck, and Danny's hands were on Rusty's shoulders, his grip promising that he wasn't going to let go any time soon.

Rusty spoke, rapid and unsteady. "You saw it in the file remember? Self inflicted...I _had _to tell them that, Danny. It was awful, but I couldn't tell them about him. Was after the CPR. I was lying on the floor. Couldn't talk, couldn't move...I just lay there and let him do whatever he wanted. He...he put it inside me. My birthday present. And then he walked away."

He held Rusty a little tighter.

"I couldn't get it out. I tried...but then I had to get dressed and get out of there before anyone noticed, and I kept...I could _feel _it all the time. When I was walking, when I sat. I tried...my cell at night...fingers...felt worse than _him_...I couldn't stop throwing up, and I could hear people laughing from the next cells."

He pressed kisses down into Rusty's hair blindly, expressing grief and love and misery and Rusty clung to him, and the shaking eased a little.

"Was like something from the little jokey bits you get in the papers, you know?" Rusty said softly. "And everyone knew. Think that might be the worst part."

"They knew?" he repeated, aghast.

"Yeah," Rusty said with a shrug. "Oh, maybe not everyone, but I'd see the little groups gathered together, pointing at me and sniggering. Heard what they said when they thought the guards wouldn't hear...or care. And when they groped me it was all a bit more purposeful."

He could hear the thick humiliation in Rusty's voice, and there were so many people he wanted to kill.

"Couldn't walk properly," Rusty continued, lost in memory. "Tried my best, but I could feel them all staring at me as I walked across the canteen. There were people exchanging notes...whispers. They were making bets, Danny. On how long it would be before I gave in and went to the infirmary."

Danny thought he might just bite through his lip. "Oh, Rus'."

"Should've just placed a bet myself," Rusty said with a laugh, his voice still muffled against Danny. "Least I'd have got something out of it, right?" He sighed. "He sat down next to me. That was a day after and I think he was getting...frustrated. Maybe he hadn't quite thought the plan through." There was a second. "He _never _thought things through. Everything he did...he overlooked the details."

Danny shivered at the words. Not something he wanted to think of.

"He kept talking to me. Touching me. He wanted me to go to the infirmary. I tried to pretend it didn't bother me, that nothing bothered me. He noticed I wasn't eating, so I sat there, spooning mashed potato into myself..." Danny could feel it when Rusty shuddered against him. "In the end, he was very persuasive," Rusty finished lightly. "And the doctor laughed too, and once it was done, once the guards had got through telling me about all the privileges I was going to lose, I walked out the infirmary and he was waiting for me. He smiled at me. Wished me happy birthday again. And then he kissed me and walked away."

"What's his name?" The voice was low and savage and hate-filled, and it took Danny a second or two to realise it was his.

Rusty sat back, away from him, staring in shock. "What?"

He swallowed hard, but the question had been asked. "What's his name, Rus'. Please."

"I can't tell you, Danny," Rusty said, shaking his head slowly. "You _know _that."

He knew that. But right now he was listening to the fury in his soul, and he couldn't _accept _that. "He deserves – "

" – _I know what he deserves," _Rusty cut in harshly. "And I know what you deserve. And you are never getting near him."

But he wanted..._needed..._revenge. Everything the monster had done. Every pain and humiliation and violation. Danny had to pay it all back.

Rusty leaned forwards and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "I need you, remember?" His hand was pressed against the side of Danny's face. "Don't you dare leave me for him."

Oh, God. He wouldn't. Couldn't. "I'm – "

" – I know," Rusty interrupted gently. "I know." He sighed and shook his head. "Anyway. That's what I've been dreaming of."

"And why you don't want to do anything for your birthday," Danny added hollowly.

Rusty hesitated. "I don't...it matters to you, I know that."

"I want to make you happy," Danny admitted softly. "Whatever you want is fine for me."

For a long moment, Rusty just looked at him. "I feel better for having told you," he said very quietly. "It's less awful up here." He touched his head lightly. "I think maybe the nightmare won't bother me again."

That was good. No matter how much the story hurt to hear, that made it all worthwhile.

He smiled and Rusty was looking at him again. "What was your plan?" Rusty asked.

Danny blinked. "My plan...?"

"You always have a plan," Rusty told him fondly.

"I was thinking we could take a roadtrip," Danny admitted slowly. "Thought we could start in Salt Lake City. Head down to St Petersburg. The pretty way. Get there in time for – "

" – cake and presents," Rusty interrupted.

Danny winced. "Yeah." He wanted...he didn't know. He wanted Rusty to think about him, not about David, not about the monster. He wanted Rusty to know that his birthday mattered in the right way. "Thought maybe we might see Reuben too," he added, absently. "Just because we can't go to Vegas doesn't mean he can't leave."

"Sounds good," Rusty said softly.

"What?" Danny looked up in surprise.

"I _want _to move on," Rusty said, his voice sounded determined. "This seems like the way to go."

For a moment Danny couldn't speak. He squeezed Rusty's hand tightly, ignoring the lump in his throat.

Rusty smiled at him then frowned. "Why Salt Lake City?" he wondered.

Right. Danny bit his tongue and then carefully drew his cellphone out of his pocket, opened the message and passed it open.

For a long, long moment, Rusty just stared at it. "This is...Oh, _Danny._"

"Yeah," Danny agreed quietly.

"_Idiot," _Rusty said, and his voice was muffled as he flung his arms around Danny. "I don't deserve you."

There were tears on Rusty's face. But the smile was bright like sunshine.

* * *

Six hours later and they were sitting at the airport Starbucks, waiting for the flight to Salt Lake City to be called.

An espresso, a glass of pink and white liquid sugar, and they smiled at each other.

Obstacles overcome, marks tricked, fun and laughter, pain and comfort.

Just another weekend.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter, please let me know what you think.**


	15. One year after

**A/N: And here is new chapter! There's only two chapters left of this story, and afterwards, if anyone is actually still interested, I'll start working on the Dominoes version of Ocean's 12. And, for the record, in this context 'anyone' does not include InSilva**

* * *

The job had gone well. They were climbing over rooftops in the rain with a bag full of stolen goods and Derek Rhett was none the wiser. Normally that would be something to celebrate, but for the past few days Rusty had been quiet and withdrawn and Danny was...worried. No. That was an understatement. Once upon a time, Rusty being quiet would have him worried. Now it had him terrified, frightened that this might be the prelude to a relapse, or some new and awful revelation.

But it hadn't seemed exactly like either of those things. He'd even wondered if it might be another herpes flareup but that had happened a couple of months ago, and it had left Rusty depressed and miserable, but he'd been fine about admitting he needed to see Stan for more medication.

No, this was something else, and all of Danny's careful attempts to find out what had been gently rebuffed. Didn't _feel _like Rusty was hiding anything from him as such. Didn't feel like Rusty was desperately unhappy. But there was something, and Danny needed to know what it was.

"So," he began, as they clambered down the edge of the last rood and made their way through the rain-soaked streets. "I'm thinking we get these to Dee first thing in the morning, and then move on," he suggested. "Somewhere less..." He paused expectantly. "Wet." With a sigh, he finished his own sentence.

Rusty was staring at his watch and automatically Danny checked the time. Just dead on midnight.

"Frank called me a year ago today," Rusty said vacantly.

Danny stared. "It's been a year?" It couldn't have been. Surely. And yet, when he thought about it...these past months he'd been all about the moment, trying to get everything right in the here and now. He'd hardly had a chance to notice time passing.

"'s been a year," Rusty nodded. "A year since Frank called, a year since I saw you again, a year fifteen days and eleven hours since I got out of prison, and a year fifteen days and thirteen hours since...since..."

Silently, Danny reached out and took his hand.

"It's been a year, Danny," Rusty said quietly.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

There was a pause and then Rusty smiled at him. Sudden, dazzling, brilliant. "Let's get drunk," he said.

* * *

Drinking was something they did often, getting drunk was a far rarer past time. The last time they'd actually been drunk together was six years ago, Danny thought. After Wilhelm's funeral. They'd sat at the wake with Saul and Bobby and Phil and a host of others, and they'd toasted his passing, and then they'd found a hotel room just like this one and they'd carried on drinking and talking through the night.

The past year (_if it was really that long_) getting drunk had seemed like the worst idea imaginable. Self control was all important. But now Rusty was lining up bottles and glasses on the coffee table in front of him, and he seemed pretty damned serious.

"You know," he began, and his voice faded as Rusty looked at him. He sighed. "Yeah. You know."

They drank some and then drank some more.

A year. He was really having trouble believing it. A year ago he'd been caught up in Carson's threats and insinuations, sitting on half a plan and knowing he could only make it work with Rusty. Knowing he _needed _Rusty, and telling himself it was only on the professional level. Telling himself he wasn't _afraid _to see Rusty again, that everything they'd been was a closed chapter of his life, that he'd – _somehow – _moved on, moved past Rusty.

He shivered. "I never wanted to see you again," he said.

"I almost didn't come," Rusty told him quietly. "When Frank called...when I realised you needed help, there was a moment when I wondered about..."

Danny didn't need to ask what Rusty had wondered about. He could see it in Rusty's eyes. "I thought you didn't start thinking like that till later," he asked urgently.

"It wasn't serious," Rusty assured him, only it was no assurance at all. "_I _wasn't serious. Just a little thought in the back of my mind I didn't give words to."

A little thought. A little thought that had grown and flourished. That Carson...that _Danny _...had nurtured and encouraged until Rusty felt like death was his only option. Until Rusty really thought that the world would be better off without him.

"I should never have let it get that far," he said miserably, and they'd never really discussed any of it after that first night.

Rusty drained his glass, nearly knocking it over as she reached for another one. "You said no," he reminded Danny. "When I told you about the Verbal, you said no and - "

" - and then I told you to go to hell," Danny cut in, because he remembered what he'd said.

"I didn't tell you what Carson was doing," Rusty said, looking straight at him. "I went to great lengths not to tell you what Carson was doing. And that's because even then, when I was that fucked up, I still knew that if you knew what he was doing, or even some of what he was _saying, _you would have stopped me."

"I didn't know but I could see..." He'd seen the effect Carson was having. In a dark room he'd watched Rusty fall apart, and he'd understood how fragile...how broken...

"And I was the one who pulled away," Rusty reminded him evenly, cutting into his thought. "Unless you want to tell me that if I'd said I needed you then you would have shoved me away."

Would he...? No. No, he would have given Rusty whatever he needed.

"You're not the only one who didn't want..." Rusty waved a hand vaguely.

"Why?" he asked softly.

Rusty shrugged. "Didn't want your pity."

"- I don't - " he interrupted.

" - I know." Rusty flashed him a quick smile. "Now. But then I didn't feel like I was the same person. Didn't feel like there was anything left worth a damn. Didn't want your pity, didn't think I deserved your...your friendship." He shot Danny a look that apologised for the inadequate word, but Danny figured that Rusty had felt unworthy of Danny's _friendship _let alone everything he couldn't or wouldn't name. And it hurt to think of.

"I never stopped loving you, you know," he said quietly. "Sometimes...sometimes I wished I didn't. But I never stopped."

"Yeah," Rusty said, uncomfortably.

Danny sighed, tilting his head back and absently draining his glass. "You ever wonder what would have happened if I hadn't told Frank to call you?" he asked, because sometimes _he _wondered, in the dark of night. Carson would have got them, he thought. He wouldn't have been able to make the plan work without Rusty. Hell, he wouldn't even have been able to come up with the plan in the first place. He'd be in prison right now, along with Saul and Reuben and Frank...Linus...everyone. But Rusty...?

"I don't know," Rusty said with a sigh, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. "I barely left my hotel room in two weeks, did I tell you that? Barely talked to anyone, barely got out of bed...and the dreams were getting worse before Frank called. Think I'd still have fallen apart, just more slowly. And you wouldn't have been there to put me back together again."

"Not better then," Danny managed.

"Not for anyone," Rusty agreed. He considered. "Well, maybe Benedict."

"His happiness isn't high on my list of priorities," Danny said. Blindly, he reached out and found another drink. The world was tilting uncomfortably and they were out of whisky so he was left with vodka and a drop of flat diet coke. "The first thing I said when I saw you again," he started after he'd forced the drink down. "I said that I was never gonna forgive you." He'd seen how hurt Rusty was, but anger had still ruled him then.

"When _did _you forgive me?" Rusty asked curiously.

"You know, I'm not even sure," he said, frowning. "Somewhere along the way it just happened. I realised I can't lose you."

"I never expected you to forgive me, you know," Rusty told him. "Not just after. Five years ago...I knew what I was doing. It was the most selfish thing I've ever done. I didn't tell you what was happening. I snuck around behind your back. I knew it would hurt you far more than going to prison would. I knew it would destroy _us_. And I knew that it would take a miracle for me to walk out unscathed. I knew all that and I did it anyway, Danny. I didn't expect you to take me back afterwards."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know. " He took Rusty's hand gently. "Sometimes, when I think about it, I'm still angry," he said. "But you _are _forgiven. Always, always forgiven."

Rusty smiled at him.

Danny swallowed hard and the question was buzzing round his head, unavoidable, inescapable. "Am I?"

"What?" Rusty asked, the smile fading.

"Am I forgiven?" he whispered.

"For what?" Rusty asked, bewildered.

For what. Danny closed his eyes. "For leaving you. Am I forgiven for leaving you?"

"I never expected..." Rusty took a deep breath. "I understand why you were angry with me, Danny. I never expected you to do anything else."

"Maybe you should have," he said with quiet agony. "Maybe _I _should have. It's like Carson said - "

" - we're listening to _Carson _now?" Rusty cut in fiercely. "Because I thought we'd already got it pretty well established just how bad an idea that is."

"He said a couple of things that were true. To _me,_" he added with a glare, before Rusty could say anything. "But you have to admit, if I hadn't abandoned you back then...if I'd forgiven you, if I'd done anything...it wouldn't have been so bad."

Rusty looked like he'd do anything to be able to deny it. But it was the truth. They both knew that.

"You couldn't have stopped it, Danny," Rusty said quietly.

"I could have been there," he answered simply. He bit his lip. "You ever think about calling me?"

Rusty shook his head quickly, but Danny could see the lie.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "I told myself if you ever did, I'd hang up," he said. "And you know, I really don't know whether I would have or not."

"You didn't hang up. I didn't call," Rusty said simply. "Don't waste time thinking about what didn't happen." He sighed. "I was never angry with you, Danny," he said again.

Yeah. Rusty wasn't angry with him. He already knew that. But... "You spent all that time blaming yourself," he pointed out quietly. "You weren't - "

" - you think I get a little more self esteem I would hate you?" Rusty demanded incredulously, staring at him. "You think I _should _hate you?"

"I abandoned you," he whispered. "Rus'..."

Rusty moved quickly, half falling to his knees in front of Danny, grabbing his hand tightly. "Look at me," he said, his voice low and intense. "Danny, you look at me."

He looked. Rusty's eyes were fixed on his, full of love and truth and confidence, and absolute and unquestioning forgiveness.

"What happened to me wasn't your fault," he told Danny seriously.

Danny shook his head minutely. "I could have - "

" - it wasn't your fault," Rusty said again fiercely, and he raised Danny's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the inside of Danny's wrist. "And you are forgiven. Completely, completely forgiven."

He took a deep breath and released it, and it was as though a pain he hadn't realised he was holding onto had melted away. "Rus'," he started, his voice cracked, and Rusty smiled and stood up and quickly drew Danny into his arms, holding him tightly. "'m _sorry,_" Danny whispered after a second, and the tears came and Rusty didn't let go until long after the sobs had died away.

As he drew back, Rusty studied him intently. Danny smiled at him. "Yeah," he said, in answer to all the questions Rusty didn't need to actually ask. He felt better. He felt free. For the first time, he felt like everything that had happened five years ago was safely behind them. Maybe the guilt would always be there, but it wasn't hanging over him, a black mass of crippling regret.

They were forgiven. Both of them. In the end, what else mattered?

He grinned weakly. "This is - "

" - fucking exhausting," Rusty agreed. "Unless that's the alcohol."

"Too much or not enough," Danny wondered, and he reached out to grab another bottle and sent a miniature of coffee liqueur falling to the floor, spreading rapidly over the carpet. "Fuck," he commented.

Rusty leapt to his feet – just about – and stumbled to the bathroom, returning with a towel.

Danny watched as he dabbed ineffectively at the carpet. After a moment, Rusty looked up at him. "Feel free to help anytime," he said dryly.

"You remember Mrs Cookson's boarding house?" Danny pointed out mildly. "I was up half the night on my hands and knees with a scrubbing brush, after you told her you couldn't remember who spilled the chocolate ice cream."

"Maybe I really couldn't remember," Rusty suggested with dignity.

Danny snorted. "Right. You remember everything."

"I don't - Rusty cut in.

"- Everything," Danny insisted.

"I don't remember everything," Rusty said again.

"Right." Danny shook his head. "Name one thing you've forgotten."

There was a pause and Rusty looked down, turning his attention back to scrubbing at the floor. "I don't exactly remember how we met," he said quietly.

Danny actually laughed. It was so unlikely – so impossible. "What?"

Rusty didn't look up. The laughter died in an instant.

"What?" he said again.

"Don't know," Rusty said with a shrug. "Just realised somewhere along the line that it had...vanished. I mean, I _know _how we met. The who's and the when's...but I don't actually _remember _it. It's just like something I read, maybe." He looked up at Danny miserably. "I don't remember how it felt. I don't remember _you._"

He stared for a long moment, his mouth dry. "Oh, Rus'," he said softly, heart ache in his voice. "C'mere."

Rising slowly, abandoning the towel and the carpet, Rusty walked over to the sofa and sat back beside him.

Gently, Danny too his hand. He didn't understand how this could happen, but he wanted to make it better. He couldn't imagine that Rusty's memories were gone forever. "Maybe you just need reminding," he suggested softly. "You want, I could - "

There was an almost-hungry look in Rusty's eyes. " - Tell me."

He could do that. He squeezed Rusty's hand. "Okay. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin."

Rusty offered a rude gesture.

Danny grinned, and immediately grew serious. "It was New York in winter and..."

* * *

It was New York in winter and the snow hadn't started falling yet, but that was surely only a matter of time. Danny just hoped it held off for a few more days. He really didn't want to be trapped at the Davenport house. Truth be told, he hadn't wanted to come here in the first place, he'd wanted to just get the con done with a couple of meetings in town, but Roger Davenport had unexpectedly invited him to visit for a few days, and refusing had seemed like he'd be throwing his work away.

And he really needed this score. Wasn't like he was expecting to get a lot – a hundred dollars or so – but it would go some way towards appeasing Abalone. Maybe he'd even be able to use some of it to cover Logan's half of the rent.

God, he was barely treading water here. This wasn't what he'd wanted.

"Here we go," Roger said grandly, as the car rolled into a long gravel drive, leading up to a large ostentatious-looking house.

"Very nice, Roger," he said appreciatively. "A few more years and I hope to have somewhere like this myself."

"From what I hear, Wyatt, you shouldn't have too much trouble," Roger told him.

That was probably true for the real Wyatt Filmore. For himself, Danny was feeling a whole lot less certain lately.

They went inside and he had his case and coat taken by what he assumed was a butler, and he was shown to a spacious bedroom on the second floor.

"Get yourself settled in then please come join me in the den," Roger said pleasantly. "We'll have a couple of drinks and set the world to rights. That sound good to you?"

"Of course," he said with a smile.

"Oh...we won't be alone for dinner, by the way," Roger told him. "My son, Marcus, is coming home for the Christmas break, and apparently he's bringing one of the idiots from the fraternity he's thinking of joining. I'll try and make sure they don't disturb you."

He simply nodded, and as Roger walked off, he tried to figure out how this would affect him. Only problem he could see was that he might not get the time he needed with Roger.

That's what other kids his age were doing. College. Fraternities...he grinned. Alright. However broke he might be, however much trouble he might currently be in, he was still glad he'd given that a miss.

Thing was, he needed this score for more than just the money. Logan had made him doubt himself all over again. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself; he _was _right. He wanted to be a thief, that didn't mean he had to be a bad guy. And if other people didn't see that...he was better off alone. No more working with other people. No more struggling to explain himself, no more having to defend his ideas _or _his ideals. He was gonna do things his way and that meant working alone.

The rest of the afternoon he spent in the den, pretending to drink brandy, listening to Roger talk and nodding at the appropriate moments.

"It's so difficult to get anything started these days," he said with a sigh during a lull. "Take me, for example. I've got this very interesting deal all lined up and I don't have the capital to go through with it. Isn't that crazy? A few years and I could be making millions, but I'm losing out for the sake of a hundred or so dollars."

He could feel the tension rise in the room. Roger did not like being asked for cash. "I'm sure you must have friends who could lend you the money."

Fortunately, he wasn't _planning _on asking Roger for cash. "No," he said, his smile intense and cheery. "No, I'm afraid that's my number one rule. Never borrow money, no matter what."

"That's a good rule," Roger said, sounding relieved, and maybe just a little impressed.

"Here's hoping," he said, and he turned the conversation away. There'd be more time later.

* * *

Despite the cold, Rusty kind of wished that Marcus would put the top down, and not just because Marcus' aftershave was overpowering in close quarters. He'd never been in a sports car before and he felt like this was spoiling the experience.

"Here we are," Marcus said, joyfully wrenching the wheel and careening wildly into a long sweeping driveway. Rusty looked up towards the house. Or, possibly, palace.

Huh. "It's just you and your Dad who live here?" he asked.

Marcus nodded. "And the servants, of course."

Servants. Right. Really? Not that it should matter...point was, everything was going according to plan. Hell, even if the con didn't work, he'd be set for food and a place to stay for a couple of days, and that was worth something. And if it did work out, he'd have fifty dollars or so. Enough to secure himself a place of his own for a week or two. Time to start saving again.

He stepped out of the car and the cold cut right through him. California rarely seemed so far away.

He really needed this score.

"I'm afraid you don't have the best room," Marcus scowled, as he was shown upstairs, his rucksack being carried by an actual butler, who looked at the fraying seams with poorly hidden contempt. "Dad's got someone staying. Some financial genius or something."

Right. More complications. The good thing about Marcus was that he was so self obsessed that he never noticed anything out of place. He couldn't count on anyone else being so unobservant. Well, he'd just have to stay out of the way.

"He's probably some overweight sixty year old banker," Marcus went on gloomily. "Most of Dad's friends are. He's so _old fashioned. _He won't have a TV in the house, can you believe it? And he doesn't trust banks. He keeps a small fortune in the safe in his study in case...I don't know, in case we get attacked by Indians, I suppose."

Rusty laughed politely at the joke.

"Dinner will be in twenty minutes so we'd best get changed," Marcus told him. "Sorry again about the room."

He left and with a groan, Rusty flopped down onto the bed. It was soft and luxurious. Sorry about the room...when he'd been a kid, there had been times when there'd been four of them, sharing a room not much larger than this one. How the other half lives, huh.

So he had to get dressed for dinner. He looked down at his jeans and t-shirt. Presentable, but hardly smart. Well, he had his suit in his rucksack, and that was nice enough. Only trouble was, Mark and Julia had given him it last Christmas and it was beginning to show too much of his wrists and ankles. He sighed. It had done in the past, it would do now.

There was another door in the room so he went exploring. Bathroom. With two doors, and that was worrying, but an actual _bath. _Oh, fantastic. He was definitely gonna make use of that while he was here. Probably didn't have time before dinner though, so reluctantly he turned to the sink.

Huh. Someone else's razor. Some condensation clinging to the mirror. He wasn't the only one using this place. He turned to face the door – the other guest, he guessed, staring unhappily. Suddenly he felt much less secure, knowing someone else could walk straight into his bedroom. He'd make sure to lock the doors whenever he could.

All he had to do was get through the next few days without being noticed.

* * *

Danny arrived early for dinner but Roger was already waiting. "I'm sorry, Wyatt," he said stiffly. "I'm afraid we could be here a while. Marcus doesn't believe in punctuality."

He smiled. "I'm fine waiting," he assured Roger. "I noticed the deer on the wall in the hallway," he went on quickly. "Do you hunt?"

"Me? No," Roger said at once. "It's an antique. I collect them. Are you interested in antiques at all?"

Huh. Perfect opportunity. Tonight was his lucky night. "Ah, no. Not really my thing I'm afraid," he said apologetically. "I inherited a few things from my grandfather that are supposed to be antiques. I just see them as old fashioned. Take this watch, for example." He rolled his sleeve up.

"That's a rolex," Roger said needlessly.

Danny nodded. "Yes. Apparently it's from 1912." He sighed disgustedly. "It was probably just fine in its day, but give me a nice modern one any time."

"Have you ever got it valued?" Roger asked.

Bingo! He shrugged uncaringly. "Nah. It's genuine – I've got the certificate – and that's enough for me."

By the look on Roger's face that was enough for him too.

God, how fantastic would it be if he got this whole thing wrapped up tonight. He could make an excuse and head home first thing in the morning with enough money to keep Abalone quiet for at least a while. Before Roger could say anything though, the door was flung open and Marcus and his friend filed in and settled themselves at the opposite side of the table.

With a sigh of contempt, Roger made the introductions. "Marcus, this is my friend, Wyatt. Wyatt, this is my son. Wyatt works in the city, Marcus. Very successful. You could learn something from him."

He smiled across the table at the young man – probably about his own real age, dressed in a shiny black suit with a shoelace tie, his hair permed and wearing a sullen expression. Arrogant little wannabe, Danny thought. Not a threat. "Good to meet you," he said warmly.

"Yeah," Marcus said dismissively. "And this is my friend, Joseph Kale."

Danny looked across the table ready to mouth more pleasantries, and it was as if the world stopped turning, just for a moment. _Huh. _ He couldn't even really describe the feeling. When he looked into those eyes, it was like he could see everything behind them and it was wonderful and terrifying and impossible. It felt like...reaching blindly into the dark and finding a diamond. He had a sense of something unexpected and momentous, but most of all, he realised that the man – boy? - sitting opposite him with the bright eyes and the brighter smile, and the amused quirk to his lips, absolutely was not here as a friend to Marcus. And somehow, in some way he couldn't begin to understand, he could tell by the merest glint in the boy's eye that likewise he'd been recognised as something other than he was pretending to be.

"Nice to meet you," he said pleasantly, conscious of the audience.

"Likewise," the boy grinned.

The rest of the evening was almost impossible to get through. Danny was pretending to be enjoying getting to know Roger all the while desperate to actually get to know Joseph. He wanted to know everything. And that wasn't exactly helped by the acute feeling of awareness they seemed to be sharing. It was like there was another conversation going on beneath every word spoken. He was conscious of the boy's extreme boredom when Roger was lecturing about the stock market, aware of his vivid amusement when Marcus said that the problem with modern art was that people weren't feeling themselves enough. Without a word being spoken, they played little games. Seeing how often they could get Roger to say "global Marxist conspiracy'. Timing how long it took them to convince Marcus he needed to check his hair.

This connection was instant and impossible and Danny didn't _care. _He was having far too much fun.

It felt like magic, pure and simple. Like he was flying higher than he ever had before. He felt _alive._

* * *

Rusty breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. Marcus had insisted on a long drawn out conversation before bed about how unfair his father was, and how embarrassing it was that the two of them hadn't been served wine with dinner. Rusty had barely noticed. He'd been focused exclusively on the Mysterious Stranger sitting opposite him.

And unless he was very much mistaken, the Mysterious Stranger was in the adjoining room. Eagerly, he rushed out and opened the bathroom door, and at the exact same moment the bathroom door was opened from the other side.

For a long moment they just stared at each other.

"So," the Mysterious Stranger said at last.

"So," Rusty agreed with a grin. "You want to come in?" he offered lightly.

His lips twitched, amused. "Gonna offer me a drink?" he asked, sitting down on Rusty's bed.

"Don't have a drink," he said with a shrug, and his eyes lit up as he remembered. "Wait!" He rummaged in his rucksack for a moment and emerged with the packet triumphantly.

"Do have these," he announced happily, bouncing down onto the bed beside him.

"Peanut butter cookies?" the Mysterious Stranger smiled, taking one.

"Dinner was a long time ago," he explained seriously, taking two. "So..." he said, nibbling on the cookie. "Wyatt Filmore?"

"Danny Ocean," the Mysterious Stranger said with a smile. "Joseph Kale?"

"Rusty Ryan," he said, and giving his real name was the best decision he ever made.

"You a con man?" Danny asked.

He considered. "S'ppose so," he said.

"Yeah," Danny nodded. "Yeah. I'm planning on getting Roger to buy this watch."

Rusty glanced down at it. "Looks old," he commented.

"It isn't," Danny told him. "But it's a good enough forgery for the untrained eye. I'm just working on making him think I don't know how much it's worth and that I need a little cash."

Sounded straightforward enough. He pursed his lips. "If he's an untrained eye, how do you know _he _knows how much it's worth? If it's genuine, I mean."

"Up to twenty thousand dollars," Danny said, answering the question he hadn't asked. "And I'm hoping he'll make enquiries."

Huh. Twenty thousand dollars?

"I'm hoping to get a hundred or so," Danny told him with a shrug. "How about you? What are you working on with Marcus?"

"Oh, he thinks I can get him into a frat house," Rusty said quickly.

"Huh." Danny considered. "Sounds - "

" - boring," Rusty cut in truthfully. "It's boring."

"Yeah," Danny sighed. "I know the feeling. I've sold a watch like this three times in the last three weeks. That's not - "

" - challenging," Rusty nodded. "I _know. _But sometimes you need the cash - "

" - more than the thrill," Danny agreed.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"I owe money to some unpleasant people," Danny said at last.

"I need to get to LA," Rusty said simply.

Cards on the table, they studied each other carefully.

A smile crept over Danny's face. "You want to work together? Go after the big score?"

Rusty grinned. "You read my mind."

* * *

Danny just about managed to suppress a yawn as he followed Roger onto the golf course. He had no idea when they'd finally gone to bed last night. Late. Early. The sun hadn't been up but the sky had been lightening.

They'd talked so much. He didn't think he'd ever spent that long just _talking _to someone. Rusty was sharp and funny and brilliant, and it was as if no matter _what _Danny said, Rusty understood immediately.

There'd been a creaking noise coming from above them, and they'd both looked up, startled, glancing round the old house nervously. "Probably Dr Markway," Danny muttered.

Rusty had grinned. "Whose hand was I holding?" he asked and Danny had smiled with sheer joy.

Later, Rusty had told him about the money and the safe in Roger's office. That was what they were going after. He'd never tried anything this big, and he was pretty sure Rusty hadn't either, but when she talked to Rusty, when he looked in Rusty's eyes, everything seemed possible.

This was dizzying and exhilarating and so, so _fun_.

"You ready, Wyatt?" Roger called, and grimacing, Danny hoisted his clubs and walked over to join him. "Good, good." Roger rubbed his hands together happily. "I've been looking forwards to this. The last golf game of the year. Before it gets too cold."

Danny shivered. For his money it was far too cold _now. _But the first step in all this was, surprisingly, to sell Roger the watch, and throughout the morning he kept up a steady stream of conversation, charming and gently flattering, and as usual, Roger was entirely responsive to it.

Somewhere around the twelfth hole, Danny made a point of checking his watch. "Later than I thought," he commented, sounding surprised. "That's one good thing about this old watch. It does keep good time, that's why I still wear it. But I swear, the moment I get some money, I'm buying a brand new rolex. If only this deal comes off..."

"You could always sell the watch," Roger suggested, and Danny resisted the urge to dance for joy. Instead, he shrugged. "Who'd want to buy sixty year old watch?" he asked incredulously. "Now, really, I think I can sink this," he added, striding up to the ball.

He didn't. Golf wasn't really his game, and anyway he wanted Roger as the magnanimous winner. They wanted him in a good mood, after all.

For the rest of the morning he listened to a droning monologue on the history and significance of golf.

He wondered how Rusty was holding up.

He wondered how he could possibly miss someone he'd met for the first time fifteen hours ago.

* * *

Rusty spent the morning in the large sitting room that was apparently Marcus' studio, watching as he worked on his...masterpiece. He'd known Marcus was majoring in fine art, but this was frankly unexpected. He'd taken one look at the painting, and his first thought had been 'I _have _to show Danny.' The thought had had taken him by surprise and, mind whirling, it had been all he could do to trot out the awed compliments that Marcus was waiting for.

How was it possible that Danny was suddenly so important to him? He didn't know Danny. He barely knew anything about Danny. And yet he could perfectly picture Danny's face when he saw this.

It didn't make sense. But he wasn't gonna question it.

For most of the morning, Marcus was silent, concentrating on his painting, and shushing all Rusty's attempts at conversation. Huh. Not exactly a good host. And Rusty was bored out of his mind.

His thoughts drifted to Danny again. Last night had been one of the best nights of his life. He couldn't even say why, he just knew that being with Danny made him feel..._happy_, he supposed, but more than that. Like every other time he'd been happy in his life paled away into insignificance. This felt _right. _

"There, I think that's enough for the moment," Marcus announced at last. "I'll get cleaned up then it'll probably be time for a spot of lunch, I suppose. Oh!" He grimaced suddenly. "I'm sorry, I just remembered. I'm afraid I'm going to have to abandon you this afternoon. Father and I have to visit my grandmother. Family duty, you know. Can't get out of it."

"Oh, don't worry," he said breezily. "I'm sure I can manage to entertain myself." His heart leapt. More time with Danny. Time to plan the job, time to talk, time to be together.

He was smiling cheerfully as Marcus locked the door to the studio. And here was the cue he'd been waiting for. "You must be worried about burglars," he said softly. "After all, your work is absolutely irreplaceable."

"Oh, it's fine," Marcus said dismissively. "My father has a good security system to protect his treasures."

"An alarm?" he asked guilelessly.

"An alarm, motion sensors..." Marcus snorted. "You'd think he was protecting the Mona Lisa."

"Really." He sounded fascinated, and enjoying the sound of his own voice, Marcus proceeded to tell him everything.

* * *

Roger had vanished off to make some calls and Danny had returned to his room, wanting to get some rest. But he looked up quickly when he heard the bathroom door, and smiled when Rusty walked in.

"You know, Marcus was right," Rusty commented. "Your room _is _bigger. And you've got a double bed."

Obligingly Danny shuffled over and Rusty lay down beside him, neither of them giving it a second thought.

Rusty sighed happily. "Comfy," he commented.

Danny glanced at him. "We could switch," he suggested.

"I think that if anyone noticed, they might get suspicious," Rusty pointed out, his eyebrow raised. "Besides, I thought we were going to move tonight."

"If we can," Danny agreed, suddenly strangely reluctant. When this job was over...what would happen? Maybe they could keep in touch.

Rusty looked at him, frowning slightly. "You manage to - "

" - yeah," Danny nodded. "He's interested."

"Good," Rusty smiled. "I'll prime him at lunch. And..." He dangled a set of keys from his hand enticingly.

"You got them," Danny grinned.

"Like taking candy from a store," Rusty said happily.

"Which is like taking candy from a baby, only with less residual guilt," Danny nodded.

"And no angry mothers trying to beat you over the head with a stroller," Rusty agreed.

Danny looked at him. "Experience?" he asked dryly.

"Just the stroller. Not the candy," Rusty explained. "Unfortunately," he added with a sigh.

Smiling, Danny reached over to the nightstand. "I got you something," he said, throwing the little box over.

Looking down at it, Rusty blinked. "You got me a golfball?" he asked uncertainly.

"I got you a white chocolate golf ball," Danny corrected.

Rusty's eyes lit up. "_Danny_!" he exclaimed, happily tearing the packet open. "_Thank _you."

Danny smiled, watching him eat it. It had been a sudden impulse. He'd been standing at reception in the clubhouse, and he'd seen the treat, and he'd remembered Rusty licking his fingers after the peanut butter cookies, remembered the evident, simple pleasure at the sweetness. He'd wanted to make Rusty happy. And he'd succeeded.

Even if there was now chocolate smeared over Rusty's mouth and fingers. He laughed. "Honestly, how old are you?"

"Nineteen," Rusty said immediately, indistinctly.

"Uh huh," Danny frowned. "You want to try that again with the truth?"

"Sixteen," Rusty admitted.

Oh. He swallowed hard, and he didn't ask if Rusty should still be in school, but it was a close run thing. Wasn't what he wanted to know anyway. He wanted to know if Rusty had anyone who took care of him, even nominally.

"I'm on my own," Rusty told him.

"I didn't - " Danny protested.

" - you didn't have to," Rusty told him. "I could..." He waved a hand, apparently to indicate the inexplicable whatever.

"Huh," Danny said slowly. "That could be a problem."

"Only if we want to keep secrets," Rusty said softly, sitting up and looking at him. "It's just me at the moment. Mom died three years back. ODed. She got hold of some bad shit and that was that. I've no idea who my father is. Don't think Mom had the slightest idea. Guess you could say I'm a complete bastard." He grinned.

Danny swallowed hard. Rusty was speaking lightly enough but just like Rusty himself had just demonstrated, Danny could see the layers beneath the words. The pain and the loneliness and the regret. He almost reached out to take Rusty's hand before he realised what he was doing and stopped himself. But the pain was still there in Rusty's voice, and slowly he laid his hand on Rusty's shoulder, squeezing gently, offering comfort and compassion and whatever else he could, and Rusty looked at him wonderingly for a moment.

"Been stealing all my life," he went on. "When I was a little kid, David – my brother – would use me as a distraction while he picked pockets, and later he showed me how to do it myself. Kept us safely out of the house. Kept us fed. And after Mom died I went into care. Got moved around a lot of different places. Some of them were alright. Some of them...weren't." He paused for a second, his face shadowed. "Anyway, I left the last place about six months ago. Ran away, got kicked out...little bit of both, really. And I've been on my own ever since."

"You been sleeping rough?" Danny asked, horrified at the _thought_, horrified at everything that Rusty wasn't actually saying. He could imagine how Rusty had grown up, and it _hurt. _His heart ached and he longed to hold Rusty close and promise that nothing – no one – would ever hurt him again.

To his relief, Rusty shook his head immediately. "Nah. Motels, mostly. I had some money saved up."

"To get to LA?" Danny guessed.

Rusty nodded silently.

"Want to be a movie star?" he asked, and certainly Rusty had the looks and the poise, and if dinner last night was anything to go by, he more than had the talent.

"Nah," Rusty said with a slight smile. "Not my thing. But my brother did. Does. David. He left when I was twelve. He promised that once he was settled and had a place to stay, I could come live with him."

And that was four years ago. "You heard from him since?" Danny asked slowly.

In answer, Rusty got up and ran through to his room and came back with a few faded picture postcards. Danny looked through them in silence. The various sights of LA. They were addressed to Rusty with a couple of scrawled lines on the back. Nothing compelling. Trite observations about the weather and the scenery. A certainty that the writer was going to get a lucky break any day now. A hope that someone named 'Mac' wasn't being too rough. There was nothing that suggested David remembered or cared about any promise. There was no return address. And the last date on the card was three years ago.

"I _know," _Rusty muttered thickly. "But he's my brother. When we were kids and things were bad, he promised to take care of me."

"Seems like you've spent most of your life taking care of yourself," Danny pointed out gently. "And you don't have any clue where he is?"

Rusty shrugged stubbornly. "I'll find him. He's all I have." He smiled painfully and looked at Danny. "How about you? How'd you get started?"

Danny shrugged. "Not really that much to tell. I was brought up by my Mom – my Dad left when I was about six. We never heard from him again. No great loss, by all accounts. Mom was great. She was..." Loving. Wonderful. Everything a mother should be. He met Rusty's eyes and he could see that Rusty understood. ""She was a writer so she was at home all the time. Mostly she wrote those romance books – you know the type. Two people meet, fall in love, and spend the rest of their lives together."

"And nothing ever goes wrong and no one ever gets hurt or sick or killed," Rusty nodded with a sigh. "Yeah. Sweet but unrealistic."

"Maybe," Danny said with a shrug. "They were popular anyway. And she did a lot of ghostwriting too. Five years ago, you pick up one of those tell all celerity autobiographies, there's a good chance my Mom wrote it. Anyway, I had a great childhood, never worried about a thing, certainly never stole anything...then about three years ago Mom remarried."

"And that was bad?" Rusty asked softly, concern in his eyes.

He shrugged again. "It wasn't awful. We mostly just avoided each other. But then about six months after that, Mom died suddenly. It was her heart...she hadn't even been ill."

He swallowed hard, and even after all this time, the memory got to him a little. Rusty carefully reached out and laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder, like Danny had earlier, and Danny flashed him a smile. "Mom hadn't made a will, so Paul – my stepfather – got the house, the money and me by default. It still wasn't awful," he reassured Rusty hastily, seeing the look on his face. "He wasn't abusive or anything. He wasn't even cruel. Hell, he made sure I had anything I needed, and even went along to parent teachers conferences and shit like that...but he made it clear, right from the start, as soon as we knew Mom was dead, that he was only in this till I turned eighteen. The second I was an adult, I stopped being his problem and was on my own."

"Oh, Danny." Rusty's voice was rich with sympathetic misery, and more than a hint of anger and outrage on his behalf. "He shouldn't have done that."

"To be fair," he said uncomfortably. "Paul never wanted children. He did his duty, I suppose, and that's more than a lot of men do with someone else's kid - "

" - oh, a lot of men in that position will hurt you just to see you bleed," Rusty agreed, and Danny shivered at the certainty of experience in his voice. "But that's not the _point._"

"What's - " Danny began.

" - you said your Mom was wonderful," Rusty said simply. "Kind and goodhearted. Would she have wanted you to lose everything."

Silently he shook his head. No. No, that wasn't what Mom would have wanted for him at all. There was a painful lump in his throat but he felt better inside than he had since Mom died. "Thanks," he whispered.

"Don't thank me," Rusty said after a second. "Besides. I didn't do anything."

Danny was inclined to disagree. Right now, he felt like he could get lost in Rusty's eyes. The strength and the understanding...it was overwhelming.

"Anyway," he said brightly. "That's when I started stealing. Think it was just one of those teenage rebellion things, but I was _good _at it." He remembered the exhilaration, the joy of being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, realising he could use this for more than just a little extra cash. "I got recruited by a housebreaking crew right out of high school."

"Yeah? What was that like?" Rusty asked. "I've never really worked with anyone else before."

"It was...disappointing," he said truthfully. He'd thought he was going to find people who saw the world like he did. Who felt the same joy. Kindred spirits. Instead..."I mean, I learned a lot but they had an MO and they never deviated from it. Everything had to be just so. No room for any new ideas. I remember one house, Anders – the boss – turned it down because we didn't have access to the second floor window. Wouldn't consider going in the roof or tricking our way in through the front door to open the window ourselves. I could have done it in two minutes, I swear." He could hear the frustration in his own voice.

"No challenge," Rusty said softly. "No fun."

"Exactly," Danny nodded.

"So you left?" Rusty asked.

"No..." he said slowly. If that had been the only problem he could have learned to live with it, at least for a while. But it was the next bit he wasn't sure Rusty would follow him on. _Hoped _but he couldn't be sure. "They didn't care who they were stealing from," he said softly. "I don't have a problem with what I do. But I didn't get into this to steal from people who have _less _than I do. I'm not into stealing some eighty-five year old grandmother's TV. It's just...it's not - "

" - it's not right," Rusty cut in quietly. "It's not right and it's not _necessary._"

That was it exactly. That was what Anders and his people didn't understand. That was what Logan hadn't got. That was what Rusty understood without Danny trying to explain. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Anyway, that was the last straw. There was...a discussion. They all laughed at me. Called me a stupid kid who wanted to be Robin Hood, or something. And I left. And a year later, here I am." He smiled brightly.

Rusty looked at him. "We can do this right. Your way."

"Our way," Danny corrected softly, hopefully, and Rusty nodded.

"Our way," he agreed. "Marcus gave me the security set up."

"Alarm?" Danny asked intently.

Rusty nodded. "On all external doors and windows. And there's a motion sensor on the ground floor, right outside Roger's office."

"Huh," Danny said. That was unexpected.

"You know - " Rusty began hopefully.

" - no," Danny admitted. "I can't turn it off. We'll need to get Roger to turn it off himself."

Rusty blinked. "How?"

Danny grinned. "You said it was a motion sensor. If we set it off enough times in the night, the alarm should annoy everyone enough that he'll switch it off."

"Be better if he could see some reason why it was going off," Rusty said thoughtfully. "Something harmless."

The smile was contagious. Danny could see what Rusty was planning and he wasn't bored. Not in the slightest.

A knock at the door and Rusty quickly scrambled through to the bathroom while Danny stood up and smoothly answered the door.

The butler was standing there. "Mr Davenport desires me to tell you that it is time for lunch," he announced woodenly.

Right. Lunch. And afterwards he and Rusty would be free to act.

* * *

They wandered past the tarpaulin-covered swimming pool, stopping to look at the french windows that led to Roger's study.

"Exit," Danny said quietly, and Rusty nodded.

"Should work for this afternoon too," he commented, looking at the floor length drapes concealing the room. "As long as I'm quick."

"Yeah," Danny said, sounding faintly unhappy.

Rusty looked at him quickly. "You think I can't - "

" - no," Danny said immediately, and Rusty relaxed at the certainty in his voice. "No. Just...you're going to be doing that, and I'm gonna be..." He sighed. "If you get caught..."

Huh. The concern in Danny's voice was nothing he was used to. Nothing he'd heard directed at him before. He smiled. "You'll be there distracting him," he reminded Danny. "It'll be fine."

Everything was going according to plan. He'd spent lunch – when he wasn't enjoying the rich soup or the delicious pastries – loudly telling Marcus about a friend of his who'd been given an opportunity to buy an antique book for dirt cheap and he'd called an expert and discovered that it could be worth two thousand dollars. They'd both seen Roger listening thoughtfully. And after lunch they'd lingered in the hallway, eavesdropping as Roger made a call asking about prices, and they'd grinned as they'd heard him repeat "_Twenty thousand dollars?_" in a stunned voice.

"Would be better if we'd had one of us acting as an expert," Rusty commented. "That way we could actually value the watch and Roger would feel like he was taking less of a risk. Could get more."

Danny turned from his anticipation of the window and smiled. "Maybe we can do that next time," he suggested.

Next time. Rusty's heart skipped a bit. Only if everything went well, there wouldn't be a next time. Even if Marcus was exaggerating it seemed like there'd be enough in the safe to pay off Danny's debts and buy him a ticket to California. This time next week, he might well have found David. It had been such a long time since they'd seen each other. It'd be five years next month. He wasn't even sure if David would recognise him. But David _would _want to see him again, he reminded himself tightly. David had promised.

"Alright," Danny said. "So we come out of the window - "

" - cross the gardens there - " Rusty agreed.

" - over the wall - " Danny nodded, looking.

" - and there's a bus stop two miles down the road," Rusty finished. He sighed. This would be easier if you had a car," he told Danny seriously.

Danny grinned. "Sorry."

They checked the wall they were planning on climbing. Looked easy enough. Nothing surprising. Then they wandered out to the front gate and down the road towards a stable Rusty had spotted on the drive in.

He looked at Danny sideways, wondering. "So you going to tell me who you owe money?" he asked softly as they walked down the road. Because Danny didn't seem the type.

"Guy named Abalone," Danny said, equally quietly. "Technically _I _don't owe him. I was working with this guy, Logan. He seemed nice enough. Always had the best info. We...had a disagreement and he left. Couple of days later Abalone came knocking on our door. My door now. Apparently Logan had run up a bunch of debts for info and other services, and now I've inherited them."

Danny was trying to keep his voice light, but Rusty wasn't fooled for a second. "He hurt you," he said, the whisper full of certainty.

Slowly Danny nodded. "He had a couple of guys with him. They just roughed me up a little. Told me I had a month to get the cash or next time would be much worse. That was two weeks ago."

Absolute fury gripped him. Danny had been threatened. Danny had been _hurt, _and he wanted to kill everyone responsible. Wanted to protect Danny, to make sure that nothing – no one – ever hurt him again. In that moment he knew with a stone cold certainty that he'd risk anything for Danny. Give everything. There didn't have to be a reason.

"Hey," Danny said hesitantly, laying a hand on his arm. "You - " He stopped dead when he saw Rusty's face, his eyes widening. "Oh."

"I swear I'll help you get free of that bastard," Rusty said quietly. And maybe, once the debt had been paid off, he could see about -

" - don't even think about it!" Danny interrupted his thoughts fiercely. "Abalone is powerful and connected. You even try to take him on, we're going to lose. Badly."

He closed his eyes briefly. Probably Danny was right and that didn't help. "Okay," he said at last with a sigh.

They resumed walking to the stables and it only took a couple of moments before they found what they were looking for – a bored-looking guy leaning on a pitchfork.

"Hi there," Danny said brightly. "You interested in making some money?"

The guy stared at them blankly.

Right. Rusty quickly stepped forwards, switching into Spanish. Turned out that the guy's name was Ramone, and he'd be very happy to make some money, especially when Rusty told him what they were looking for. He was still laughing when they left.

"Thirty dollars, cash on delivery," Rusty reported. "He'll be waiting at the gate at nine. You keep Roger distracted, I'll be able to slip out and back with no problem."

Danny was looking at him.

"What?" he asked, frowning. He couldn't have missed anything, could he?

"You speak Spanish?" Danny asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oh. He shrugged. "Yeah," he agreed. "Picked it up a few years back."

"Huh," Danny smiled. "You got anymore surprises waiting for me?"

Rusty grinned. "That would be telling. Wait and see."

* * *

"Did Roger say when they'd be back?" Rusty asked when they were back in his room.

"No," Danny shrugged. "In time for dinner, so soon I guess. We should get ready."

"Yeah," Rusty agreed, disappearing into the bathroom before Danny had a chance to. _Huh. _"I'm just getting changed and fixing my hair," Rusty called through to him, amusement rippling through his voice. "You want in, feel free."

A further huh. But Rusty was right, it really didn't matter. He just wanted to shave anyway.

"Isn't that the shirt you wore yesterday?" he asked, frowning as he stepped into the bathroom. It was a pale violet colour...kind of memorable.

Rusty paused in the act of shaking out the shirt and carefully didn't look at him. "Yeah," he said quietly. "'s the only one I've got."

Not 'the only one I've brought', 'the only one I've got'. Danny felt his heart clench, and he wondered if Rusty owned _anything _that wasn't in that rucksack. He was beginning to doubt it. "I got a couple of spare ones in my case," he offered. "If you want to borrow one."

Rusty glanced at him awkwardly. "Thanks, but...won't it be a little big."

Danny grinned. "I'm hardly built like a quarterback," he protested. "Tuck it in, cover up with your jacket, you'll be fine."

"Thanks," Rusty said quietly, sounding young and vulnerable.

Danny looked straight at him seriously. "Don't thank me," he said. He didn't want thanks. He didn't _need _thanks. Not from Rusty. What mattered was making sure Roger didn't have any excuse to look down on, to ridicule.

As he watched, Rusty evidently read at least some of that in his face, and the smile was hesitant but blinding.

He headed through to his case and picked out the shirt that he thought Rusty would like best, and when he walked back into the bathroom he caught Rusty looking longingly at the bath. He glanced at his watch. Didn't keep half as good time as he'd told Roger, but still. "You should have time," he assured Rusty. "Go for it."

Rusty looked at him for a second, and then quickly turned both taps on, and started to slip out of his clothes in record time.

Blinking, Danny glanced towards the door, uncertain if he should leave.

"Sorry, didn't think," Rusty said with an anxiety that didn't suit him. "If you're uncomfortable - "

" - No," Danny said without even thinking about it, and when he _did _think about it, he realised it was the truth. He wasn't uncomfortable. And maybe he should be, but that was hardly the point. Grinning, he picked up his razor and turned his attention back to the mirror.

With a soft moan of contentment, Rusty eased himself into the bath, closing his eyes happily.

"So how did you get to Marcus?" he asked, curiously after a few minutes had gone by.

Rusty opened his eyes and looked at Danny in the mirror. "Told you. He thinks I can get him into a frat house. He saw me talking to the president at a party and the rest was easy."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "You often go to frat parties?" he asked, amused.

Briefly, Rusty glanced at the ceiling, his face closed off and considering. "'bout a week ago," he said slowly. "There was trouble at the motel I was staying in. Vice bust of some kind, I think. Nothing to do with me, but the place was crawling with cops so I figured it wasn't safe to stay there. I got ID says I'm eighteen, but I'm not sure how well it would stand up to police scrutiny. Trouble was, I'd just paid for the next few days, so I was short of cash. It was late, so I hit a club I know where I can normally get in for free, figuring I'd make a couple of sucker bets, maybe lift a wallet or two, then get a place for the night. Anyway, I wound up hooking up with someone. They took me back to their place and it turned out that was a Greek house on campus. And that was a one night stand but there were parties every night, always people staying over, so I wound up just sleeping on the sofa for the next week. No one ever asked. Don't think anyone ever noticed."

Danny choked. "You've been sleeping in a sorority house?" he demanded incredulously.

There was a long silence. Rusty looked at him levelly. "No," he said simply.

"What...oh!" Danny got it in an instant. "Oh." Mind whirling, Danny desperately wanted to assure Rusty, that he was fine with it, that it made no difference to him. At the same time though, he was looking over everything that he'd said and done, since yesterday, needing to know that he hadn't misled, needing to explain that while he..._liked..._Rusty, while he thought Rusty was brilliant and amazing and wonderful, and more than anything he wanted to be his friend, he wasn't able to offer more than that. _(And there was just the tiniest part of him that was busy reminding him just how he felt when Rusty smiled at him, and asking him whether he was really sure what he wanted.)_

But he didn't _need _to say any of that, did he? The initial second of surprise faded and he relaxed. That wasn't what this was about. When Rusty looked at him...that was nothing to do with sex.

He turned around and looked Rusty right in the eye, and smiled, and for the first time he was making a conscious effort to show Rusty what he was thinking, what he was feeling, that Rusty's happiness was the only thing that mattered here.

The sheer relief on Rusty's face was painful.

"Rus'," he said, softly, troubled.

"I'm not ashamed," Rusty said quickly, flashing him a quick smile. "It's just you wouldn't be the first to...react badly," he said, and there was something beneath his words that made Danny grit his teeth, struggling beneath the weight of righteous anger. Someone had hurt Rusty, someone had put that insecurity in Rusty's voice, and he wanted to know _who._

Rusty shrugged. "It happens," he said like it didn't bother him, just as he had earlier, when he'd so casually mentioned how dangerous the place he'd been living was. Rusty deserved so much better than this and he could well understand Rusty's desire for a new start with someone who cared about him.

(_Just that he wondered whether David was really that person. Was really worthy._)

Absently he passed Rusty a towel as Rusty stood up. "So I'm not - " he said lightly.

" - no," Rusty said immediately, towelling himself vigorously.

"Huh," Danny mulled that over for a moment. "Should I be..." He stopped as Rusty turned and looked him up and down deliberately, lips pursed.

"Nah," Rusty said at last. "Don't worry, you're gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?" he repeated incredulously. Of all the adjectives in all the world, he wasn't sure that one was _him_.

Rusty shrugged, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Handsome?" he suggested. "Debonair? Dashing?"

"Better," he said with dignity, lips twitching as he grabbed his hair gel and turned to fix his hair.

"Oh," Rusty said suddenly. "Talking of personal vanity - "

" - I am _not _- " Danny started.

" - there's something I wanted to show you, "Rusty finished, ignoring him.

"Okay," Danny said, giving up and dressing quickly.

Rusty quickly dressed and towel dried his hair, and only glanced once in the mirror, running a comb through his hair in an easy motion that somehow left it impossibly perfect. "I can't help it," he said seriously in response to Danny's look. "Come on."

They headed downstairs and Danny found himself standing outside Marcus' studio as Rusty used the keys to unlock it.

"So what are we..." Danny began and stopped dead as he saw _exactly _what they were looking for.

A large, admittedly well done, painting of Marcus in the guise of Julius Caesar, astride a flying unicorn with scores of scantily-clad women huddled at his feet.

"Well," he said at last. "That's - "

" - just what I thought," Rusty agreed.

Danny tilted his head. "Is it just me or is he - "

Rusty stepped forwards and took a closer look. "Yep. And he's flattering himself."

After a second, Danny turned to stare at him.

Rusty caught the look and shrugged. "Frat party," he reminded Danny. "Enough beer and you can't move for dicks. In more ways than one."

"Well," Danny said consideringly. "That's a disturbing mental image. But that's still worse," he added, nodding at the painting.

"Just think," Rusty said cheerfully. "Now you need to go eat dinner with him."

Before Danny could properly thank him for the reminder, they heard the front door open and voices from the hall.

Quickly he grabbed Rusty's arm, pulling them back to hide, and Rusty was already gently easing the door closed. Wouldn't do to be caught in here after all.

"I'm going to be discussing a...business matter...with Wyatt after dinner," Roger announced as he walked past.

They shared a grin. The watch. Had to be.

"I would appreciate it if you and your idiot friend could make yourself scarce," Roger went on curtly.

"But I was planning on working on my painting after dinner," Marcus burst out, sounding every bit the whiny teen.

"I don't care what you do, just stay out of my way," Roger said, and they were walking past and out of earshot.

"Okay then," Rusty whispered. "I'll go unlock the door and I'll be able to slip the key back on Marcus during dinner. We'll be out of here and heading home tonight."

Danny nodded silently. Home. To a lonely apartment and pulling baby cons by himself to make ends meet. He felt like he'd glimpsed something wonderful and it was gone already.

* * *

Dinner had been long, and the sight of Roger stealing thoughtful glances at Danny's wrist every time Danny hinted at his money troubles hadn't been enough to raise Rusty's spirits. Not even the mouthwatering blueberry and almond cream tart had managed that.

Alright. So counting chickens was a bad idea, but there was a good chance that this time tomorrow he'd be heading for LA. He'd be going after David and that had been the plan for almost five years now. No more social workers. No more foster homes. No more waking up alone and uncertain where his next meal was coming from. He'd show David that he could be useful, that he could help earn money, and everything would be alright again. They'd be brothers, together.

That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

So why now, when it looked like it was almost in his grasp, did he feel so tired?

Marcus was in his studio, working further on his masterpiece. He'd barely noticed when Rusty left, saying that he wanted some fresh air, and it had been easy enough to sneak out the side door and round past the pool to the french door he'd unlocked earlier.

Now he was hidden behind the drapes with a perfect view of Roger's safe.

All he had to do was wait.

* * *

This really is very decent of you, Roger," Danny said sincerely as he followed Roger to the office.

"Think nothing of it," Roger said magnanimously. "We're all winners here. You get the money you need, and I get a watch I've taken quite a fancy to."

And that he was hopeful he'd get a hundred times more than he was offering for it. But that wasn't important. "Thank you nonetheless," he said with appropriate gratitude. "This will make all the difference."

Roger strode up to the safe. Danny didn't so much as glance at the drapes.

"Would you mind turning around?" Roger asked him awkwardly.

"Oh, of course," he agreed, carefully looking away from the safe, just like they figured he'd have to.

He listened to the dial turning and the safe opening and closing, and a second later Roger was beaming at him. "Here you go, Wyatt."

"And here you go," he answered, handing the watch over easily.

"Thank you," Roger said. "I'll just leave this in the safe for the moment."

"Whatever you want," Danny agreed with an uncaring shrug, carefully pocketing the money and obediently turning his head.

"Now," Roger went on a moment later. "How about some brandy?"

"Sounds good," Danny agreed, as they walked out and Roger closed the door and inside he was grinning. So far so good.

He celebrated too soon.

Roger patted his pockets. "Damn, I've left the keys on my desk, can you believe it?"

He made to open the door and Rusty would still be there. "I'm sure I saw you put them in your jacket pocket," he said desperately, but Roger only hesitated for a second.

"No, I'll have left them on the desk, I'm always doing that," he said as he swung the door open.

There was no sign of Rusty. But the drapes were still swaying slightly.

"That's strange," Roger commented walking up and throwing them open. Danny winced, but Rusty wasn't there. "Is that..." He stopped.

"Is that what?" Danny asked in a loud voice of cheery unconcern.

"I thought I saw something," Roger said.

"Probably nothing," Danny insisted.

"This door is unlocked," Roger said, surprised, walking out onto the terrace.

Heart in mouth, Danny followed. There was no sign of Rusty. And he couldn't have got out of sight so quickly – from the moment the drapes were pulled aside, he'd be a sitting duck. But Roger hadn't seen him, and there was no easy cover in sight except...

The tarpaulin on the swimming pool had been pulled aside ever so slightly.

_Fuck._

"There's nothing out here," he said, doing his best to sound bored, when his mouth was dry and his hands were shaking.

"Yes, you're right," Roger said with a sigh. "My imagination running away from me." He shivered. "Come on, let's get back inside."

"I think I'll stretch my legs for a bit," Danny said carefully, praying that Roger wouldn't get it into his head to offer to join him.

Thankfully, Roger just nodded. "In this weather? Rather you than me. Come find me when you're done."

Danny stayed calmly standing until Roger was safely back inside. Then he ran.

Kneeling on the edge of the swimming pool, and he was hauling the tarpaulin back, and Rusty was there, choked and coughing and shivering, and Danny was pulling him out, his constant whisper of "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay" more of a prayer than a promise, because Rusty's eyes were unfocused and his lips were blue.

There was a storage shed on the other side of the pool some distance away. He hauled Rusty up, his arms tightly wound round Rusty's chest, and he dragged him over. Thankfully the door wasn't locked, and they fell inside, Danny covering Rusty's body with his own as best he could. There was another tarpaulin on a shelf above them and he pulled it down and over them. Any additional warmth had to make a difference, but Rusty was so _cold _and Danny thought he'd never been this frightened.

This couldn't be happening. He'd only just found Rusty. He couldn't...he couldn't...

He wasn't going to.

He held Rusty impossibly tight, rubbing furiously at his chest and back. "I'm here," he whispered insistently. "I've got you. You're going to be okay."

With a gasp, Rusty looked straight at him. "56, 24, 13," he rasped.

The combination. Danny found himself laughing, the slightest edge of hysteria present. "You with me, Rusty?"

"Cold," Rusty said, shaking violently. "'m cold." He blinked up at Danny. "You're on top of me," he told Danny, sounding confused.

"We need to get you warmed up," Danny told him. "Stay with me."

Rusty smiled. "Am with you," he said sleepily. He frowned. "You really don't mind?"

Danny understood immediately. "I really don't mind," he promised softly. On impulse, he reached out and stroked a hand through Rusty's hair. "You're what matters to me, Rus'. Nothing else."

"You wanted to know 'bout who wasn't so understanding," Rusty said slowly.

Danny bit his lip. "You don't need to - "

" - my last foster parents," Rusty told him. "Mark an' Julia they were called. I lived with them for about six months. They were nice. They made sure I always had enough to eat, they let me watch TV with them, helped me with my homework...they treated like a normal kid. I even unpacked my stuff. I never unpack."

"So what happened?" he asked softly, gently squeezing Rusty's shoulder.

"They came home unexpectedly, and I was making out with Trent Mackenzie on their sofa," Rusty said, his eyes far away. "They were...they were furious. Julia screamed. Mark was yelling. Trent grabbed his shirt and ran out of there."

Rusty was still frozen and half in shock, and Danny could see the fear and pain and confusion from six months ago in his eyes. He'd been a kid, kissing someone, and he'd been attacked for it, and it wasn't _right._ "They kicked you out?" he said, anger running through him all over again.

"No," Rusty shook his head. "Mark took his belt off. Told me to stay still. He'd never done anything like that before. I ran upstairs, grabbed my stuff and left, and Mark yelled after me not to come back. Julia was crying..."

"Oh, Rus'," Danny said, and the story _hurt _him. "Those _bastards _had no right to treat you like that."

"Figured they'd tell the social workers," Rusty added. "Figured it wouldn't be safe for me to go back."

"You ever see Trent again?" Danny asked.

Rusty nodded. "That night. I went to see him...he told me not to come round again. He was scared, Danny," he added, apparently in response to the look on Danny's face. "He was just a kid."

"So were you," Danny said at once. "You shouldn't have been treated like that. It was wrong."

"Yeah," Rusty said quietly. Unconsciously, he snuggled closer into Danny, and he was shivering less now. "What'd you and Logan argue about."

He sighed. "There was...a job. Logan found it. A buyer who wanted some jewellery from a certain house."

"Abalone," Rusty said quietly.

"Abalone was the buyer," he agreed. "Not that I knew it then. It all seemed easy enough. We got in no problems, headed for the stairs." He took a deep breath. "There wasn't supposed to be anyone in the house," he said with quiet anguish.

"But there was," Rusty guessed, his voice tight with apprehension.

Slowly Danny nodded. "The au pair," he said miserably. "She wasn't supposed to be there. We walked straight into her on the stairs. She was your age. She looked at us...I've never seen anyone look that scared. And Logan...and Logan..." He stopped, painfully choked up, and Rusty reached out and held him close, and Danny felt the comfort surround him. "He was holding this flashlight," he managed to say. "He swung for her and she dropped like a stone. There was blood everywhere." He closed his eyes, remembering. "I called an ambulance immediately. I wanted to stay, but Logan dragged me out of there."

"Oh, Danny," Rusty breathed. "Danny, it wasn't you. It wasn't your fault. It was all on him."

"I was working with him," Danny said numbly. "I'm responsible. I'm...I'm..."

"It wasn't you," Rusty said again, holding him tight. "It wasn't you."

He felt some of the guilt and misery drain away in the face of Rusty's certainty. Rusty's faith.

Swallowing hard, he looked away. "You feeling better?"

"Yeah," Rusty nodded. "I'm warmer." He ran his hands through his hair. "I should get changed and go to the stables."

And Danny should go find Roger before Roger came looking for them. But right now...he squeezed Rusty's hand tightly. A few more minutes.

He'd almost lost Rusty. He wasn't quite ready to let Rusty go.

* * *

Rusty got dried off and changed before heading out to the stables but he was still freezing. And that was in spite of the fact that Danny had insisted on wrapping him up in pretty much all the clothes that they had.

Danny. He'd been alone and cold and hurting...he'd been in trouble and Danny had been there. Making sure he was safe. Holding him. No one had ever held Rusty like that in his life.

And he supposed it should feel weird. Probably he should be embarrassed. But he wasn't. He wasn't ashamed. Just thinking of Danny made him feel somehow warmer.

It was like he knew beyond all doubt that he could trust Danny. That Danny would never leave him.

He sighed as he headed out the side door unseen. David, he reminded himself. He was going to LA and Danny _knew _he was going to LA, and that was just fine. He'd be able to write though, he considered brightly. Phone, maybe even. Once he got settled. They could stay in touch. Somehow, they could find a way to be friends, even if they lived on opposite sides of the country.

The road to the stables seemed longer in the dark. And colder, and at first he assumed that was just him, but then the first specks of snow started to fall, slowly at first, then harder and faster.

He stared up at the sky. Well, that was just terrific. Though on the other hand it could only help in covering their tracks.

Ramon wasn't exactly looking happy when Rusty arrived, but fortunately when he produced the cash Danny had made from the watch, he brightened up noticeably and gladly handed over the bag.

The wriggling, squirming bag.

Perfect.

* * *

Roger didn't get any more interesting no matter how much time Danny spent with him. _Somehow –_ and Danny really had no idea _how –_ the conversation had turned to college and girls, and Roger was regaling him with implausible tales of his college girlfriend. Danny had been forced to offer up a few stories of his own. He figured his were about as true as Roger's.

But as Roger droned on, all Danny could think of was Rusty. He didn't think his heart had stopped pounding. That had been frighteningly close. If he hadn't been there...if he hadn't spotted the tarpaulin had shifted, Rusty might have died.

Danny wasn't sure he could deal with that. Rusty was somehow more _real, _more alive than anyone he'd ever met in his life. To imagine all that just wiped away...it was unthinkable.

He'd only just found Rusty. He didn't want to lose him.

Except he was going to, wasn't he? It seemed Rusty's plans were set. He was off to LA to chase after his brother, and whatever Danny thought, he could understand that family was important. And besides, hadn't Danny himself decided not to work with other people again? It always got complicated, and he remembered the panic on Logan's face as he'd swung the flashlight, the sickening crunch, the sheer relief when he'd found a strong pulse at the girl's throat. Logan had been his partner, and he'd learned that partner's couldn't be trusted. They could betray you. Sneak around behind your back to make deals on the sly. He'd told himself he was better off alone.

But Rusty wasn't like that. He knew beyond all doubt that Rusty wasn't like that. And it was the coward's answer, wasn't it? To hide away from something that might be wonderful because he was afraid of being hurt.

Rusty still had his own plans though...

He sighed. Let the chips fall. Right now, tonight, all that mattered was this job. Rusty wanted that ticket to LA, and Danny longed to make him happy. Even if that meant letting him go.

"You alright, Wyatt?" Roger asked curiously.

"Oh, fine," Danny said at once, pasting the smile back on. "Now. What were you saying about the fan dancer?"

* * *

He sat with Marcus for an hour or so in order to keep him from being suspicious. Plus the studio was warm and he was able to doze next to the radiators and concentrate on warming up some.

Evidently it worked, in that when Danny came upstairs some half hour after he'd managed to get free from Marcus, he looked relieved on seeing Rusty.

"Less popsicle-y," Rusty told him.

Danny grinned. "I don't think that's a word."

"Popsicleish?" Rusty suggested, blinking innocently.

"Uh huh." Shaking his head, Danny made to sit down beside him. "So where's the - "

" - in your bed," Rusty told him sweetly.

Danny leapt about a foot in the air. "In my bed?"

He shrugged. "Sorry, Goldilocks," he explained reasonably. "I wasn't in my room."

There was a second and Danny looked at him. "Where are they?"

"In the bath," he told him, grinning. "Still in the bag."

"Right." Danny went to have a look, and Rusty watched amused as he hung back in the door. "How many - "

" - five," Rusty said.

"Right," Danny said again, with a touch of uncertainty. "Think that'll be enough?"

Rusty shrugged. "We can always set it off ourselves if it isn't," he pointed out practically.

Danny nodded slowly. "Okay then," he said, and he jumped down on the bed beside Rusty. He looked at Rusty. "Two hours?"

"Two hours," Rusty nodded.

Two hours of sitting on the bed, talking about everything and nothing, and he'd swear since he met Danny, he felt as if he'd become a thousand times more interesting. No one had ever listened to him the way Danny did. Not even David.

"That's time," Danny said at last, and he nodded, carefully retrieving the bag from the bath and heading to the stairs.

They stopped halfway down and poker-faced he held out the bag towards Danny, tilting his head enquiringly.

The momentary look of panic was absolutely worth it, and he grinned before reaching into the bag and carefully dropping the first mouse down towards the motion sensor.

The alarm started screaming a second later, and they ran back up the stairs, and made as if they'd just woken and ran out of their rooms.

"What is that fucking racket?" he asked, yawning obnoxiously.

Roger fixed him with a look of disgust. "The alarm," he said, glaring round them and Marcus. "Was anyone downstairs?"

They all shook their heads dumbly.

"We'd better go investigate," Danny said, stepping forwards calmly.

Half an hour looking round, with nothing to show for it, and Roger reset the alarm and they went back to bed.

They gave it twenty minutes, before Rusty released the second mouse, and grumbling in the face of the alarm, they all trudged downstairs again.

Marcus let out a girly scream. "A mouse!" he cried.

"Well that must be what set off the motion sensor," Roger grunted. "I don't know _how _it got in here."

"Can we catch it?" Rusty suggested vacantly.

Roger shot him a glare of disgust. "This is the only room with a motion sensor," he said. "If we can chase it into the next room, we should be fine."

Suddenly this had all the elements of a screwball comedy. He carefully didn't look at Danny, but he could sense the amusement.

Somehow, between them, they managed to get the mouse shepherded into the sitting room.

This time they only waited ten minutes. Just long enough for everyone to be nearly back to sleep. And he released two mice, which were still sitting there when Roger stumbled downstairs, their little noses twitching. Rusty thought they looked pretty cute, on the whole, but he was probably the only one.

"This is ridiculous," Marcus snapped wildly. "I just want to get some _sleep._"

"I have to say, Roger," Danny contributed in a soft, conciliatory voice. "This is all getting annoying."

Roger sighed heavily. "Look, I'll turn off the alarm for the rest of the night. We can see about getting it sorted in the morning."

"Thank you," Danny nodded, and they watched as he entered a code and flipped a switch. "Goodnight."

This was it. They headed upstairs and made sure they had all their stuff gathered together. Then they sat together, in the grip of silent anticipation, the thrill running through both of them. It was almost impossible not to smile. It was almost impossible not to look at Danny.

Finally, at coming on for four, they headed downstairs, each step in unison and in silence.

Danny grinned at him outside the office door as he produced a set of lockpicks. No need to worry about anyone noticing the lock had been picked anymore. He set to work and finished with a flourish, in record time.

Maybe he was showing off for Danny, just a little.

He passed the lockpicks over to Danny with a smile, and turned his attention to the safe while Danny walked over to the french doors and started getting them open.

56, 24, 13, and the safe swung open. He whistled softly as he found himself staring at bundles of bills.

Danny stepped up to his shoulder. "Nice," he said quietly, holding out his bag, and Rusty quickly dropped the money in.

"Now," he said happily. "Let's go catch that bus and get out of here."

* * *

It took almost three hours for the bus to meander its way back into town. It was still snowing, and somewhere along the way Rusty nodded off, leaning contentedly against Danny's shoulder.

Danny smiled down at him indulgently. Not like he'd got any sleep last night, or much the night before. And after Rusty's brush with hypothermia yesterday, Rusty must be even more exhausted than _he _was, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

He did though. They were surrounded by strangers, leaving a crime scene, and Rusty was vulnerable. There was no way Danny was sleeping.

When they finally arrived, he gently nudged Rusty awake. "Come on," he said.

Rusty blinked up at him groggily. "I...sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Don't you want to know if you drooled on me?" Danny asked seriously.

"Gorgeous," Rusty told him as they got off the bus. "Not drool-worthy."

"Huh." Danny grinned. "You're gonna give me a complex."

Rusty shrugged. "I'm good for your ego."

"Yes you are," Danny said, his voice low and sincere. He didn't think he'd felt so sure of himself since Mom had died. When he was with Rusty, it felt like he...like _they..._could do anything. He cleared his throat. "So what now?"

"Breakfast?" Rusty suggested hopefully. "And we can - "

" - yeah," Danny nodded. It would help if they knew how much they'd made.

They found a secluded corner of a practically empty diner and after Rusty had demolished something called the Full House Special which contained more bacon than Danny had seen in his _life, _they got around to counting out the money. Five bundles of hundred dollar bills. Twenty bills per bundle.

He met Rusty's eyes across the table and laughed aloud. "That should get you to LA," he said.

"Yeah," Rusty grinned. "And David won't be able to say he can't afford to let me stay." He stopped, seeing the look on Danny's face. "I mean - "

" - I know what you mean," Danny said, past the lump in his throat. He wished Rusty's worldview was just a little more rose-tinted. "You've got more to offer than money."

"Got my looks too," Rusty said lightly.

"Rus'..." he sighed, and Rusty shook his head quickly.

"He's my brother, Danny," he said after a second. "I've been planning on going after him for a very long time."

"That doesn't make it the right thing to do," Danny argued.

Rusty's face shut down. "How much does Logan owe Abalone?"

"I owe him seven hundred," he said, accepting the change of subject with a sigh. "He'll be at the Trader's Lounge near Little Italy tonight. I'll meet him there, give him the money and that'll be that."

"_We'll_ meet him there," Rusty corrected quietly.

For a moment Danny wanted to protest. This wasn't Rusty's fight, and he wanted to keep Rusty as far away from men like Abalone as possible. But he saw the look in Rusty's eyes, and he couldn't argue with that. "We'll meet him there," he said instead.

Besides. It gave them an extra day together.

They spent it wandering the snow-covered streets and watching the people go by. They spent hours in a little coffee shop overlooking the park talking about a thousand things that didn't matter. They ate pizza in a little place Rusty loved, and charged it to some obnoxious jerk's expenses account. They lived. And it was wonderful.

It grew dark a life time too quickly, and he led Rusty round to the Trader's Lounge.

Abalone was in the back room. He looked surprised to see Danny. Even more surprised when they laid the money out in front of him.

"Well, well. A pleasure doing business with you, young Danny," Abalone said, his eyes gleaming. "And your...friend. I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

Danny opened his mouth, ready to snarl that Abalone didn't need to know.

"Rusty Ryan," Rusty said coldly. "And you've got your money. So we're done here. You don't have any reason to come after Danny."

Abalone twisted the signet ring on his pinky. "This was simply business, you understand. I have to admit, I'm pleasantly surprised, young Danny. I didn't think you'd get my money so quickly. Are you so certain you want to walk away from our association? My organisation could use two young men of your...talents."

"That's flattering," Danny said, with a sharp smile. "But we don't need you."

"We'll see," Abalone said dismissively. They walked away. "It's a cold, hard world out there, boys," he called after them. "We'll see how well you do on your own."

Rusty looked at him as they walked out into the street, and Danny knew the question he was asking.

"It _was _just business for him," he said with a shrug. "He'll leave me alone."

"Good," Rusty said with a sigh of relief. He smiled. "Guess I'll go catch a train, then. There's one at eleven. Should just make it."

This was all ending too quickly. He couldn't bear it.

Long before he was ready, they stood outside the station, facing each other.

Danny had no idea what to say. There were no words large enough to encompass what he felt.

It was cold. Rusty shivered, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, and Danny couldn't stop remembering the day before, Rusty pale and unmoving.

"Here," he said, pulling off his gloves and thrusting them towards Rusty.

Of course, Rusty looked at Danny's own hands and shook his head. "Nah. Won't be snowing in LA."

That wasn't the _point. _"Take them anyway," he insisted, and he almost smiled when Rusty put them on.

But then Rusty looked towards the station and sighed. "I should - "

" - you should," Danny agreed, trying to sound positive, trying to sound like he wasn't dying inside, just a little.

Thing is, he could see the self-same misery in Rusty's eyes. "It's been - " Rusty tried to say.

" - it has," he agreed fervently. "More than - "

" - much more," Rusty said. For a long second, he just looked at Danny, as if he was committing everything about this moment to memory. Then he smiled and turned away.

No.

No, it isn't going to end this way. It mustn't end this way.

"Wait," a voice said sharply and it took him a moment to realise that he'd spoken. He bit his lip hard. Nothing had ever mattered more. "Look. Don't go, please. Stay. Stay with me. I've got a spare room. Your room. If you want it."

Rusty stared at him. "You've known me three days and you're asking me to live with you. Are you always this impossible."

Inside, he was grinning because he _knew._ Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. "You've known me three days and you're going to say yes. Are you?" He took a deep breath. "Sometimes there are moments, Rus'. And if we let them slip by - "

" - we'll regret it for the rest of our lives," Rusty said softly. He met Danny's eyes and smiled, and Danny rejoiced. "You already know what I'm going to say."

The smile burst out of him dizzy and dazzling and unstoppable. Rusty was going to stay. They were together, and he was awash with emotions he couldn't even name. In that moment he was more alive than he'd ever been.

"Okay then," he said a second later, swallowing hard. "Let's go home."

Rusty was looking at him as they walked off. "So, you want to say it or will I?"

"Be my guest," he said generously.

"Alright," Rusty grinned. "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

They laughed. It was New York in winter, and the world was full of magic.

* * *

Twenty years later, Rusty leaned his head back against the sofa and smiled. "That was how it was."

Danny squeezed his hand. "That's how it is," he corrected softly.

That was how it always should be.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, please review. **


	16. Two years after Part 1

**A/N: Thanks to InSilva for the con name. Though she wanted to wallpaper my wife to the wall earlier, so I'm not sure I should be encouraging her at this point.**

* * *

There was something about victory that made food and drink taste sweeter, Linus thought. Either that or it was the company he was keeping. He looked across the table to Danny and Rusty, smiling widely. This had been just what he needed.

Three weeks ago he'd split up with Christine. They'd been dating four months and the break up had come out of nowhere, at least as far as he was concerned. He'd sat around moping for a few days, and then by chance Danny had called and he hadn't said anything, but nevertheless six hours later Danny and Rusty had been in his living room with a crate of beer, a pizza, and a wild and unlikely plan.

Somewhere in between getting the prince's letterhead, and the thing with the two safes, the fake floor and the remote control car, he'd forgotten to miss Christine anymore. And this incredibly expensive dinner, put on a royal expense account, well that was just the cherry on a thirty thousand dollar cake. They talked, they joked, and just listening to the stories he felt a hundred times better than when he was on his own.

Rusty's phone rang during dessert which, judging by the expression on his face, was some sort of insult to him and his triple chocolate mousse cheesecake. But all the same he drew out his phone, looked at the number and sighed.

"David," he murmured to Danny, and then he smiled apologetically at Linus. "'scuse me," he said, and he walked away from the table to take a call.

Linus watched after him for a moment, frowning. "Who's David?" he asked in an undertone.

Danny looked at him consideringly for a long moment. "Rusty's brother," he said shortly at last.

Oh. "They're not close," he guessed, and he could see the unhappy worry in Danny's eyes.

"Not especially," Danny agreed, his attention back with Rusty.

Linus followed his gaze, looking at Rusty for a long moment. He was standing hunched against the wall, his head ducked, his lips pursed, subtly defensive. Linus didn't know what was going on, but he thought he hated it.

Since the Benedict job, Rusty had mostly had this air of self confidence and invulnerability – the same annoying aura Danny projected – and it was only in very rare moments that Linus caught a glimpse of something that reminded him of everything he knew or suspected, and he thought again that Rusty had been through enough.

Not that there was anything he could do with the knowledge. It was just sort of there, in his head, and he knew that Rusty wouldn't thank him for any show of concern or sympathy.

After a few minutes Rusty came back to the table. Danny looked up at him searchingly and Linus waited patiently through one of those silent conversations he had once so vehemently objected to. Eventually Danny sighed. "Yeah," he said gloomily, in response to something Linus didn't have a hope in hell of following.

"Sorry, Linus," Rusty added sincerely. "Looks like we're going to have to cut this short."

"Wait," Linus said anxiously. "There's trouble? I mean, is your brother in trouble?"

Rusty glanced at Danny for a second but didn't seem to actually object to Linus knowing. "Yeah. But it's nothing to worry about."

"I could help," he suggested. "If you want me to. I mean, if you think you might find me useful." He stopped short, as they exchanged a long look, suddenly terrified that they might turn round and say there was no way they would ever find him useful.

"It could - " Danny began slowly, and Rusty nodded.

" - yeah. Thanks, Linus." The smile was warm and inclusive, and Linus willed himself not to actually blush.

Instead, as Rusty sat back down, he leaned eagerly across the table. "So what's going on?" he asked.

* * *

What was going on turned out to be a familiar story, to Danny at least. Apparently David had started another new career as some kind of an art agent; for a fee he would locate and secure works of art for his clients. Not exactly a line Danny thought him qualified for. Someone must have made him think this was a new way he could make a fortune without working. And, surprise surprise, it had ended badly and David was in over his head, owing a lot of money to some very unpleasant people who wanted him to make things right by stealing a painting from some equally unpleasant people.

And he wanted Rusty to bail him out of it. Danny was still a little hopeful that they'd just be able to pay off the debt, but honestly he doubted it. Things with David were never that simple.

If he was being absolutely honest with himself, he didn't want Rusty spending too much time with David. It was like any time Rusty had to deal with his brother he started slipping back to a time when he was less trusting, less open. And _trusting _and _open _weren't words that could be associated with Rusty at the best of times. Even less these days. To Danny's certain knowledge, Linus was the only person who had managed to win Rusty's absolute trust since he'd got out of prison, and that was solely because Danny trusted him completely.

And he still wasn't absolutely certain about bringing Linus along. The kid was right, they might well find him useful, but bringing him into something that was likely to involve a lot of effort and outlay for not much reward seemed wrong and unfair. Not to mention that anything involving David was instantly personal.

Thing was though, he _did _trust Linus and the downside of that meant that shutting him out was never the call he wanted to make. He closed his eyes; he'd need to remember to tell Linus not to lend David any money.

And in the meantime Linus' curiosity levels were up high. He was able to tell that this wasn't just the normal favour for a friend. He'd seen them when it was Basher in trouble a couple of months back. There'd been no hesitation and certainly no reluctance. Linus was more than smart enough to notice the difference and wonder.

"I guess getting your little brother out of trouble gets to be a habit, huh?" he ventured at the airport when he thought Danny was out of earshot.

Rusty just glanced at him thoughtfully. "David's six years older than me," he said.

"Oh!" Linus sounded surprised. "Sorry, I just assumed..."

He'd assumed it wasn't classy to go to your baby brother for help. Danny sighed and walked around the corner, neatly cutting off any further questions.

Not that he could stop Linus reaching his own conclusions. Especially when they reached San Diego and actually met up with David in a dingy little underground bar that had all the charm of a sewer.

"Guys," David smiled when they arrived. "Good to see you again. Did anyone see you come in here?"

"No," Rusty said levelly. They knew when they were being watched, after all.

"Good, good." David sounded relieved. "I don't think they're looking for me, but you can't be too careful."

Right now, without knowing any of the details, Danny would bet a million dollars that someone _was _looking for David. And he knew without looking that Rusty wouldn't take that bet.

"I don't think we've met, have we?" David added, frowning at Linus.

Danny saved Linus from answering. "Linus Caldwell, David Ryan. David, Linus."

"You another one of their hangers on?" David asked Linus chummily. "They always seem to have people following them around."

It was called friendship. He bit the tip of his tongue surreptitiously, biting back his anger at the casual, unknowing dismissal. "We asked him to come," he explained shortly. "He's sharp, he's loyal and he's got great instincts. Figured maybe you could use some of that." Since on his own, David had none of those traits.

He was aware of Linus gaping at him, open-mouthed at the unexpected praise. Not that Danny had never said that sort of thing before, but never out of nowhere, and never in front of witnesses. Caring, after all, was a vulnerability. One that could be used against them. See Carson for further evidence.

"I didn't mean anything," David said, apology laced with a hint of sullen.

No. He never did. He took a deep breath. Yet again David had managed to drive him to the brink of fury in less than five minutes.

He was aware of the look Rusty was giving him. Warning, pleading...asking him to play nice at any rate.

The thing was, Rusty got this look in his eyes whenever David was around. A sort of hope, a sort of regret - a sort of pain that Danny couldn't hope to help, because Rusty didn't want him to. And it made him angry, and yes, yes, some of that was jealousy, plain and simple. Didn't mean he was going to lose his temper. He would be friendly and civilised, like Rusty needed him to be.

"Okay," he said calmly. "I'll get some drinks and we'll hear the story."

"Thanks, Danny. I'll have a double whisky," David smiled.

Of course he would. He got three whiskies along with a Budweiser for Linus and settled down to listen.

"It's these Mexicans that are the problem," David began. "I met this guy Alvarez in a poker game six months back. And while I was taking his money, I got to telling him about the business I was setting up – the art agency, you know? And he was really interested. Apparently he's a big collector. Suppose they've got to spend the drug money on something, right? Anyway, he invested some money, and then a time or two when I couldn't get hold of the pieces my client wanted, his people would get them for me on the condition that they got a share of the profits."

They all stared at him. The part of the story that David wasn't sharing might as well be written in mile high neon letters. "You cheated a Mexican drug cartel out of their cut?" Linus demanded incredulously.

Rusty closed his eyes for a second, and Danny idly wondered why a mark that would seem perfectly reasonable when it was them seemed so fucking stupid when it was David talking.

David shrugged shiftily. "They wanted fifty percent. That was far too high. I mean, a man has to make a living, right? So...I just lied a little about how much was coming in, that's all. Really, it wasn't a big thing. It wasn't like I was doing anything wrong – I didn't think they'd ever find out."

"So let's skip to the part where they did find out," Rusty cut in, his face closed off so much that it was only long experience that let Danny read the tired and the disappointed. "What do they want?"

David shrugged again. "There's this company. Halfmond Art Ltd. I don't know the history, but apparently Alvarez really hates them. And they've got this painting in their lobby. A Warhol. Alvarez says that if I get it for him then everything's forgiven. And if I don't..." He swallowed hard and drew his finger over his throat.

Right. They weren't going to let that happen. Still..."A Warhol?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You can't possibly owe _that _much."

"No," David said slowly. "But I guess they were pretty angry. Alvarez said I've got till the end of the week."

"Not going to be able to buy it in that time, even if they're willing to sell," he commented. "So we're going to have to go for a steal."

David nodded with an impatience that made him bristle. "I know. That's why I called you. I don't take anything to do with this illegal stuff, you know that."

Uh huh. Fortunately Rusty saved him from answering. "Says the man who's been skimming from the drug cartel," Rusty said, smiling brightly. "Okay, first thing - "

" - surveillance," Danny took over. "We need to know everything about that painting and the people who own it - "

" - what the security is - " Rusty continued.

" - who has access - " Danny went on.

" - And we're going to need to know about these Mexicans too," Rusty added. "Who knows, maybe there's something we can do from that angle."

"Right," Linus said, still watching David, his eyes narrowed as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "I guess we'll get started on all that tomorrow."

David smiled. "I was right to call you. You never let me down. Where are you staying? I want to check in with you tomorrow. See how it's all going."

Danny pursed his lips. They didn't have anyplace lined up yet. "We'll let you know," he said abruptly.

"So that's your brother," Linus said as they left the bar. "He seems..." He seemed to struggle for the word. "Friendly?" he hazarded at last, shuffling his feet and not quite looking straight at them.

Yeah. David had always been friendly. Problem was, _friendly _was never quite enough.

"He's a grade A moron," Rusty said levelly. "He's in way over his head and there's a good chance he's going to drag us down with him. You can bail any time you like, kid, you don't have to be here."

Linus' mouth tightened. "Sure," he said mildly. "Just like you didn't have to come to Vegas when Carson was threatening us."

Danny smiled to himself.

"Huh." Rusty looked at Linus closely and then grinned. "Sorry, Linus."

"Well," Danny said cheerfully. "If that's settled, let's go find out if the Westgate still does that burger with those fries."

Linus rolled his eyes. "A five star hotel and you want a burger with fries?"

"You haven't tasted those fries," Rusty said dreamily.

* * *

There was something about David's company that made Rusty feel twelve years old and impossibly tired, all at the same time.

At least for the first few days he was able to mostly keep Danny and David separate. The last two years Danny was more protective than he ever had been before, more sensitive to when Rusty was hurting. And Danny had _never _liked David anyway, and Rusty understood why – from Danny's point of view, David had abandoned Rusty when he needed help and Danny...Danny had trouble forgiving that. No matter how many times Rusty promised it was okay.

But Danny spent the time investigating Alvarez – not exactly something they were gonna ask Linus to do if they could help it – and unfortunately the news wasn't good.

"I've spoken to some of his people," Danny said as they all sat around Rusty's hotel room, eating Chinese. "From what they were saying he's not expecting David to be able to get the painting. It's a set up. No chance he's going to change his mind. No chance he's going to let David off for anything less than the Warhol. Far as he's concerned, the theft is impossible."

"He's probably right," Rusty said cheerfully.

"I thought you said everything was possible," Linus said, with a pointed look at David who had paled dramatically as he rifled through the mini bar.

Rusty shot a glance at Danny. "When did you tell him _that?_"

"In Vegas," Linus answered promptly. "Right before he said we needed you."

Huh. He saw the apology in Danny's eyes, and really, they'd talked about this before. He understood the reluctance, and he fiercely, silently, reminded Danny of his absolute forgiveness. "There are degrees of impossible," he told Linus calmly.

The kid looked puzzled. "Uh, I don't think it works that way," he argued.

"Let's keep the philosophy for another day," Danny said easily. "What's with the painting, Rus'?"

"It's on the first floor of the atrium," he explained. "Right between the security station and the reception desk, both of which are manned full time. Meaning the painting is in direct line of sight twenty four hours per day."

Danny nodded. "Security?"

He pursed his lips. "One guard with a gun permanently stationed in the atrium and another three on patrol throughout the building – all the ones I've seen look smart, fit and keen to start shooting. Metal shutters on the doors slam down the second the alert button is pushed. No one gets in or out without being searched. And there's cameras providing blanket coverage of the atrium and the rest of the building."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Thought this was an art company?"

"Not exclusively," Linus put in eagerly. He'd been in charge of getting intel on Halfmond.

"Right," Danny nodded.

"I've double checked the security set up with Livingston," Rusty went on. "Killing it is a non starter. Can't be done in the time in a way that would get us all away clean."

"So we need to take the painting in full view," Danny concluded, his lips pursed.

"We could cut the power," Linus suggested. "Like we did in the Benedict job."

"The what?" David asked curiously.

Rusty shot Linus a warning look. "Not important," he told his brother easily. "And security shutters," he reminded Linus. "We'd be trapped inside. And there'd still be people watching."

"We could - "Danny began thoughtfully.

He shook his head quickly. " - glass doors," he told Danny laconically. Any sort of evacuation would give them an even bigger audience standing outside and watching them work.

"How about - "Danny suggested.

" - smoke will damage the painting," he cut in.

"Yeah," Danny grimaced, but then he frowned, his eyes suddenly far away.

Carefully concealing the smile, Rusty turned to Linus leaving Danny space to think. "So, kid," he began, absently stealing some of Danny's egg foo yung. "What did you find out about Halfmond?"

"The art company is sort of a front but not really a front," Linus began obligingly, with a sideways glance at Danny that suggested he recognised the signs too. "I mean, it makes a healthy profit and they seem interested in it, but they're making more money through money laundering and drug distribution."

"Guess that'll be the connection to Alvarez then," Rusty commented.

"Yes," Linus agreed. "They're small time compared to Alvarez, but the word on the street is they've undercut him a couple of times and he's looking for payback. Guess this is it."

Amused, he tilted his head and looked at Linus curiously. "The word on the street?" he repeated.

Linus blushed scarlet and mumbled something that sounded like "I asked Dad."

He left it alone immediately feeling...not exactly _guilty, _but there was a time and a place to make the kid uncomfortable, and in front of David wasn't it. (_Not that David was the enemy..._) "Okay. Go on."

"Uh, the company is run by Jerry Halfmond and his...um..._partner, _Gregory Hart," Linus continued uncomfortably.

Mmm. "Partner?" he questioned.

"They're screwing," David cut in impatiently. "_Everyone _knows that."

Probably not important. "What else do we know about them?" he asked.

"Halfmond is the brains," Linus said. "Hart started off as his bodyguard before they became...involved. They're dangerous guys, Rusty, they don't mess around. There's a rumour they got this place in the desert where they take people they don't like...apparently the last guy who pissed them off, they tied him to the back of their truck naked and dragged him through the sand at seventy miles per hour."

"Huh," he said thoughtfully. "That truck must have great suspension."

"I'm serious, Rusty," Linus said exasperatedly. "These are not men who're going to pat us on the head and let us go if we get caught."

"No one ever does," he said lightly, before looking Linus straight in the eyes. "And we're not going to get caught," he promised.

Linus nodded, looking reassured. "Anyway, right now both of them are away. Business trip to Colombia and they won't be back till Friday."

"Then that's when we'll move," Danny cut in.

They all turned to look at him.

"Isn't that cutting it a bit fine?" David said nervously. "Alvarez is expecting the painting, if you're not doing anything until that night...suppose something goes wrong?"

"We're not stealing it at night, we're stealing it in broad daylight," Danny explained placatingly.

Rusty looked at him expectantly, waiting.

"There's no way we're going to be able to take it off the wall without being seen," Danny said, the grin barely hinted at in his voice. "So we need to make them _want _us to take it down."

Oh! He grinned right back at Danny. "You want to run a Howard Roark?" He pursed his lips, thinking. "Distraction might be taken care of, but we're going to need costumes and a catalyst."

Danny nodded, the grin now obvious. "And a - "

" - mail room," he replied succinctly. "I'll look into it. Linus, we need to know _exactly _when Halfmond is expected back."

"Of course," Linus answered exasperatedly. "And at some point you're going to let me into this wonderful plan, right?"

"At some point," Danny agreed, laughing.

At some point. But at that moment all they had was an outline, and it took a lot of work over the next couple of days to fill in the details. There just wasn't enough hours in the day and them all being in the same room at the same time became more a surprising coincidence than anything else.

Like when they sat around his room, discussing the timing issue and watching David clear out the minibar for the third time.

"You planning on leaving any of that?" he asked with just a hint of irritation.

David looked up at him, blinking. "What? It's not like you were planning on paying anyway, right?"

No. But he had been planning on eating. Danny shot him a look that was part warning part sympathy.

"My brother the criminal," David said, almost fondly. He frowned suddenly. "Oh, yeah. I bumped into Seamus a couple of months ago. He said you'd been in prison a few years back. That true?"

His mouth was painfully dry. He'd just assumed David didn't know. Would never know. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"Tough break, man," David said, laughing. "But I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, right? You break the law, that's what's gonna happen. But hey, could be worse. Free food and board, am I right?"

He forced a smile. "Uh huh," he managed. He heard the soft sound beside him and didn't look around. "Danny, you mind going and getting some ice?"

Silence.

"Danny," he said softly, and he was begging now.

There was the sound of the door opening and closing and he sagged with relief, knowing that David would never notice.

"Prison has gotta be better than some of the places I've stayed in" David went on. "Talk about hell holes."

He could feel rough hands dragging him down. Could taste the death at the back of his throat. For the first time in an age he could hear the whisper of Moffatt's voice in his ear.

"Could be worse," he agreed steadily, and he could see Linus staring at him – at both of them – horrified, and with a fierce look he told the kid to stay quiet.

"That's the spirit," David grinned. "Can't do the time, don't do the crime, right?"

"You want us to do the crime, remember?" he said, grinning back, or at least baring his teeth. "And right now, we need to work, okay?"

David looked hurt. "Fine," he said sulkily. "I'll just get out of your way then."

Preferably before Danny got back. And he sighed, because that was what David always said when he was upset, and he remembered being eleven and seeing David's eyes hurt and angry, and spending the weekend alone under Mac's scarce mercies.

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the weight of memory pressing down on him.

He just had to get through this, that was all.

* * *

Over the next few days David watched them running around doing all sorts of things he couldn't understand the point of. Mostly he didn't bother asking. Rusty and Danny seemed certain this would work, and that was good enough for him. He couldn't wait to see the look on Alvarez's face when he handed him the painting. This would show that bastard he wasn't some no hope loser, like he'd said.

Unfortunately Rusty was insisting that he'd have to skip town after this was done. He was probably right, but David couldn't help but think that everyone would want his services if they knew he could get a Warhol that was supposed to be unstealable. Such a waste of an opportunity. Just his luck though; he never got the breaks.

He supposed staying in San Diego wasn't worth risking his life over, but he did wish that Rusty and his friends had come up with a way of making sure that Alvarez wasn't angry with him anymore. They always talked a great game but he guessed they weren't as good as they thought they were. Or else protecting his livelihood wasn't worth the effort.

He scowled at the thought. Rusty wouldn't understand how this was for him. _He'd _always had everything easy. Even when they were kids, Rusty had David there to protect him. Not that David resented it in any way, and Lord knows, he didn't expect Rusty to be grateful. He just wished Rusty appreciated the hardships he'd been through.

Every time he thought he'd found somewhere settled, somewhere he could really make money, find the easy life he'd always wanted, something went wrong. It wasn't _fair._ And then he had Danny turning up and looking at him like it was all his own fault, _judging _him. People like Danny never had to work at anything in their life.

Sometimes he thought that if it wasn't for Rusty, Danny wouldn't give him the time of day.

But it seemed worse this time and he honestly wasn't sure why. Nothing had changed between them. He hadn't even seen Danny in years, he couldn't say how long. And Danny had always looked down on him, right from when Rusty had first introduced them when he'd been working in that shitty little diner in LA, waiting for his big break and selling weed on the side. He'd been gracious and he genuinely had been pleased to see Rusty again and he still felt like Danny was expecting more from him. What, he really couldn't imagine.

Now though, things were somehow different. Danny would glare at him in odd moments, his brow furrowed, a sort of inexplicable burning anger in his eyes. It wasn't only Danny, either. Rusty was quieter and more serious. And if anything, the two of them seemed more ridiculously close than ever before.

He'd never known quite what to make of them. They were close in a way he just didn't understand. Normal people weren't like that. Normal people didn't talk with their eyes or sit so close together that they might as well be touching.

Once upon a time he'd tried to explain that to Rusty. That had been the only time his kid brother had ever been angry with him.

Whatever was going on, though, at least they were still ready and willing to help him, them and that new friend of theirs, and that was all that really mattered.

While they worked he kept his head down as best he could, packed up his stuff and made a few deals on the sly. Nothing major. Just offloading a few things he'd saved for a rainy day, selling at any price he could, passing on a few commissions, and telling a few people he could trust that Halfmond was going to be in a bad mood by the weekend. That sort of info was worth money, and he was going to need something to start his new life.

Unfortunately he maybe didn't do quite as good a job of keeping his head down as he'd hoped, and when he was coming out of a bar, a couple of Alvarez's men were waiting.

"Hello there, Ryan," Ramirez said, his teeth gleaming as he grinned. "Mr Alvarez heard you were planning on leaving town."

He swallowed hard. "I wouldn't do that. I'm going to get Mr Alvarez's painting for him, I promise."

"I certainly hope so," Ramirez laughed. "Because if you don't, Mr Alvarez is going to be _very upset._ And you don't want to make Mr Alvarez very upset, do you?"

He shook his head frantically. "No, no, of course not," he babbled. "I'm going to get the painting, I swear it. I've got my very best people working on it right now. Mr Alvarez will have his painting Friday night, you have my personal guarantee."

"Really," Ramirez smirked. "Anyone who works for a low life like you probably couldn't find their ass with both hands." He took a step forwards and leaned in to David until David could feel the hot breath on his face. "I'll see you on Friday, Ryan. One way or another. And you'd better not run."

"No, sir," he agreed, swallowing nervously. "Friday night, I'll have the painting. I swear it."

Ramirez laughed again and spat in his face before turning and sauntering off.

David waited until he was out of sight before wiping it off with trembling hands.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. If this didn't work out, he was dead.

He had to run straight to Rusty and Danny and make sure they were taking this seriously.

* * *

In spite of everything, Linus was enjoying himself. The con was...well it was ridiculous, frankly, and if anyone except Danny had suggested it he wouldn't have believed it would work. But Danny was as brilliant and confident as ever, and he had no doubts.

Even when it got weird and he walked into the hotel room to see Danny looking up at him with this smile that promised nothing good. "Linus. You can skateboard, right?"

He stuttered a bit. "Well, yes, I mean I _could _back when I was a kid, but that was a long time ago."

Rusty threw a board over to him and he caught it automatically. "Time to get practising again, kid."

"Why..." he managed and then glared at them before they could explain. "Wait!"

They waited expectantly while he worked it through in his head, and Danny's smile was warm and proud when he blinked and said. "_Oh." _

That was what he wanted. Not the awkward sincere words of praise Danny had used to defend him in front of David. Just the gentle suggestion that Danny had noticed what he was doing, that he approved or was maybe even impressed. Though he had to admit, sometimes the words were nice to hear too.

He studied the skateboard, frowning. "This'll really work?"

Danny shrugged. "So Roman says. As long as you trigger it at the right moment."

Right. He studied the skateboard some more. "And it won't...you know...kill me?"

"Would we ask you to do something that might kill you?" Rusty asked, affecting hurt.

"You made me jump off a building," Linus reminded him. "In the dark." He bit his tongue, suddenly remembering what had happened after, remembering just how close it had all been.

"And you didn't die," Rusty told him cheerfully.

He sighed. "I'll get practising," he promised resignedly.

He did and it was embarrassing. His first few attempts led to some spectacular falls, right in front of Rusty who was sitting there, playing with Danny's new phone. Apparently it did video capture.

He gritted his teeth. At least it was incentive to get better fast. And he did.

Of course it was noticeable that the phone vanished immediately when David turned up. And no one even mentioned his embarrassment.

It was strange. Not that he'd had a very clear picture of what Rusty's brother would be like, but somehow David still didn't match up. Really, he would never have believed they were related.

Oh, there were superficial resemblances, maybe, if you looked closely enough. They were about the same height, but David was broad where Rusty was slim, and his hair was dark, not blond. Their features were similar, but David's were less...Linus didn't know. His eyes were smaller, maybe. Beady and darting everywhere, while Rusty would glance around a room once, learning every detail, before focusing on you intently. And his mouth was similar, but the way he smiled was completely different. When David smiled it was ingratiating and watery and and uncertain. When Rusty smiled – _really _smiled – it was joyous and brilliant and devil-may-care. That look that Linus had secretly practised in the mirror a hundred times and never quite managed to pull off.

If he was being honest David simply didn't have Rusty's beauty. But Linus felt kinda uncomfortable thinking that about another guy, _especially_ Rusty. After all, he sort of had this feeling where Danny might just kill anyone who looked at Rusty that way. Not that he was of course...and not that that meant that Danny and Rusty were sleeping together. Probably.

It wasn't the physical stuff that had him struggling to believe David was Rusty's brother though. It was the more fundamental things, the things that mattered.

Rusty was hyperaware; David took oblivious to new levels. Some of the things he said...Linus could see it hurting. Sometimes he found it difficult to believe that it wasn't deliberate malice. Like what he'd said about Rusty in prison. Making it sound like Rusty had been on vacation. He shuddered, feeling dirty just at the memory. Now, Linus had worked very hard not to acknowledge that he knew what had happened to Rusty in prison. And truthfully, he didn't know the details, but Carson had practically told him that Rusty had been...assaulted...in prison. How Carson knew, Linus really couldn't imagine, but the look on Rusty's face had been clear enough.

And okay, David didn't have any way of knowing that, but it was still a stupid insensitive remark. No one came out of prison eager to go back.

Rusty's face had been blank, but it had been _too _blank, in a way that put Linus horribly in mind of that hotel room in LA, and the expression on Rusty's face after that nightmare. Like Rusty was locked inside his own head, and there was nothing looking back.

He'd been certain that David _must _have seen, but when he'd managed to tear his eyes away from Rusty, David had been sitting still talking, without a care in the world.

It wasn't malice, it was just ignorance. But some ignorance was inexcusable.

It made him want to punch David, and God knew how _Danny _felt.

He'd seen that same expression on Rusty's face again later, when he'd been telling Rusty how much time they'd have to move before Halfmond was back on the Friday. Out of necessity they'd need to move fast.

"Yes!" David crowed unexpectedly. "We'll show these cocksuckers." He paused and looked round at Rusty. "Uh, no offence."

"None taken," Rusty said remotely, his face blank and his eyes somewhere far away. "Linus, I'm going to go find Danny. He'll want to see this too." He walked out the door and Linus watched him go worriedly.

"Uh, you did know Rusty's gay, right?" David asked, turning to Linus anxiously, and he guessed that the shock on his face had been enough for even David to notice.

He hadn't actually. The subject had never come up, in fact he couldn't think of any time he'd even seen Rusty express romantic interest in anyone. And maybe he wondered sometimes if that was because Rusty was so wrapped up in Danny, but that was the sort of thought he tried not to have while he knew they were within a hundred miles.

"So?" he said with a shrug in answer to David's question. It didn't actually _matter. _Not the way David seemed to think it mattered anyway.

"Oh, good," David said with a laugh. "Didn't want to freak you out, what with you living here with him. It can come as a shock, believe me, I know. When I first found out, I was crashing on their sofa for a few days. I'd been in a bit of trouble, you see. Anyway, I found out he actually had a guy over, can you imagine that?" His face was creased with disgust. "While I was sleeping on the sofa in the next room. Talk about liberties. They were probably _doing it _barely twenty feet away from me." His voice held all the puerile fascination of a teenage boy.

"Hey, maybe you should lay off him," Linus said, glaring. "In case you've forgotten he's here to help you."

David put his hands up with an injured expression. "Me? I've not got a problem with him. He's my kid brother, that's all." A mulish expression crossed his face. "And maybe he's helping me now, but the amount of times I looked after him when we were kids...don't go thinking he's better than me."

But he was, Linus thought. It wasn't like David didn't have any good points; he seemed like a fun enough guy to be around in the good times, and he really wasn't malicious. He just didn't have Rusty's loyalty, or genius, or sheer _spark._

He wasn't the only one to think so. Mom had called to see if he'd be coming home for Sunday dinner.

"Uh, I don't know," he said. "I'm in San Diego with the guys, helping Rusty's brother.

"David?" She snorted derisively. "If you get a chance to push him off a cliff, don't hesitate. Your Dad will help you make it look like an accident."

"Uh, I'll bear that in mind," he said, caught off-guard. "He does seem sort of...self-absorbed."

"He's a weaselly little user, pure and simple," Mom said bluntly. "It's plain to see who got all the talent in that family." She sighed. "When do you think you'll be finished?"

"Friday?" he said. "We're moving on Friday."

"Good," she said shortly. "Try and persuade Danny and Rusty to come to dinner on Sunday."

"Uh, okay," he said, blinking.

The thought was slightly surreal but he found himself quite liking the idea. Maybe they could all use something to look forward to. If he could ever find a way to ask them.

* * *

The day before the job and Rusty wasn't sure how much more he could take.

It was mid morning and he'd stepped out onto the balcony, telling himself he just needed some fresh air.

David was wearing down on him like he never had before and rusty wasn't even sure why. It was kind of worrying to think that his self esteem was quite so precious that a few unthinking words were enough to send him spiralling back down, until he felt small and uncertain. Maybe it was even more worrying that even after all these years there must be some part of him that still craved David's regard. Because when David dismissed him, when David looked right through him like he wasn't even worth seeing...it hurt. It made him feel insignificant, and it put him in mind of all the men who had looked at him and hadn't seen a person, just a vessel for their pleasure.

Least David was only looking to use his brain, not his body, right?

He sighed and leaned over the balcony and his hands unconsciously found the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. There was just something about David's company that left him raw and aching, and every little comment seemed to spark a memory.

David had said something about cocksuckers, making it inadvertently clear that was how he thought Rusty, and immediately his mind had been filled with memories of him doing exactly that. Jones standing over him...hands gripping his hair, his head being dragged back and forth...Moffatt covering his mouth and nose, whispering to him to swallow... He couldn't help but remember.

Remember. Not relive. That was key. The memories left him feeling sick and filthy, but not helpless and paralysed. They were just memories, not flashbacks. Two years ago he'd have been crying in Danny's arms by this point. Now? He was in control.

He glanced down at the cigarette in his hand.

Almost in control.

Danny would probably be back shortly. Rusty had encouraged him to go pick up the documentation and IDs for the flooring company. Was easy enough – the office was hardly secure as Rusty had seen earlier that day when he'd gone there under the pretext of needing some work done, in order to plant the phone bug. Danny could do it with his eyes closed, and it was one more way that Rusty could keep him and David apart.

If Rusty was more sensitive than he ever had been before then so, in a different way, was Danny. David's disregard for Rusty's feelings had always upset him, but in the past he'd been prepared to swallow back his anger, and anyway the worst David was in danger of was a smilingly caustic remark, or maybe a punch on the jaw. Now? Now Rusty thought that if Danny started hitting he wouldn't be able to stop. And he'd had to find excuses to send Danny out of the room in order to give him a chance to cool down.

Unfortunately they'd realised today that they'd needed another person. And David was the only option – not that he was happy about it.

"What?" he'd said indignantly, staring at Danny. "You never said I had to get involved. I told you what Ramirez said, and now you want me to have both Alvarez _and _Halfmond pissed at me? That's not fair!"

Danny's jaw was clenched so tight he had trouble speaking. "Look, David. We need them delayed, that's all. No one will even know you're directly involved. Do you want the painting or don't you?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't think I was going to have to steal it myself," David protested. "I'm not a criminal...suppose I screw it up? Suppose they catch me. Suppose I get arrested? God, I don't want to go to prison! I know what happens to guys like me in there."

Rusty moved quickly, putting a hand on Danny's elbow and squeezing gently. "All you'll be doing is driving a truck," he told David softly. "Nothing illegal there. Nothing difficult. You'll be perfectly safe." From Halfmond and the cops anyway. He could feel the anger radiating off Danny.

David had looked unconvinced, but in the end he'd agreed ungraciously. After he'd left, Danny would barely look at Rusty. Too many things he was trying not to say, Rusty thought.

He was thinking a few of them himself.

The balcony door opened unexpectedly behind him, and he turned, startled, moving automatically to hide the cigarette behind his back.

Fortunately it was Linus.

"I got the truck and obscured the plates, like you said," he began, and he stopped, his eyes wide. "Uh, is that a cigarette?" he asked nervously.

Rusty idly wondered if he could get away with denying it. "Uh huh," he said instead.

"I thought you quit," Linus said, his eyes fixed worriedly on Rusty's face.

"It's not lit," he said, slightly defensively. He hadn't let it get quite that far. He'd just been standing in the diner watching David walk away from him. Someone had left their cigarettes lying on the counter, and they'd been in his pocket before he knew it.

"Oh." Linus still looked uneasy. "Are you going to light it?"

He hesitated for a moment, imagining the brief flame, the deep breath, the rush of calm...he wanted to. And really, out of all his little self destructive habits, smoking wasn't so bad. There were much worse ways he could be looking for control.

And all the same, he'd promised Danny.

With a sigh he flicked the cigarette over the edge of the balcony. "Better?" he asked lightly.

"Well, yeah, but now that's littering," Linus said.

The unexpected response had Rusty laughing out loud and he wasn't sure if it was the laughter or the concern in Linus' eyes, but suddenly his heart felt a whole lot lighter. "Don't tell Danny," he said softly.

"I won't," Linus promised earnestly. He hesitated for a few moments. "Uh, Rusty?"

"Yeah?" he asked patiently.

"I guess it's none of my business," Linus rushed, "But if David gets to you so much that you want to start smoking again, maybe you should just move on."

Immediately he wanted to retort that it _wasn't _any of Linus' business. Except they'd kind of made it the kid's business when they'd let him get involved. He sighed.

"I mean, I get that family is important, but - "

" - David isn't family," Rusty cut in. "Danny's family. David's just someone I'm related to."

And if he was Danny he might just voice the deeper sentimental point. That his friends were the people he trusted to watch his back, and his family were the people he trusted to watch _Danny's _back, and David might not appear on either of those lists, but Linus did and Rusty knew where. But he wasn't Danny and he couldn't say that stuff if he tried.

Linus was still looking at him. He smiled wearily. "Look. You're not wrong, but if it wasn't for me and Danny stepping in, David would have got himself killed a long time ago. And I'm not prepared to let that happen."

"Because he looked after you when you were kids?" Linus suggested, and immediately winced at the look Rusty turned on him. "That's what he said. And he didn't say anything more."

He searched Linus' face for a long moment, but that appeared to be the truth, and he contained himself to a short nod. "Maybe," he conceded. "Or maybe like you said, protecting him just gets to be a habit. Either way, no matter how many times he lets me down, I'm not going to let him down."

"Even if Danny punches him?" Linus asked, and Rusty could see in the kid's eyes that he understood just how likely that was.

He grinned. "Let's try not to let that happen, huh?"

They just had to get through tomorrow and then, probably, it would be years before he saw David again.

He could never decide if that was a relief or a disappointment.

* * *

Danny lay on his bed, his eyes closed. God, he was so tired. Really, he couldn't wait till this was over. The last week he'd been watching Rusty tie himself in knots under David's casual dismissive gaze and the sheer effort involved in not reacting, in not..._explaining..._to David exactly what he was throwing away, was exhausting. So far he hadn't punched the insensitive bastard, and he was calling that a victory.

When he thought of that look in Rusty's eyes, lost and abandoned and insecure, he wanted to kill David for putting it there. Then and now.

He took a deep breath, trying to get on top of the anger. It wasn't helpful. Especially the night before the job.

Truth was, he'd never understood how David could act the way he did. Once upon a time, David had been everything to Rusty and he'd just walked away, leaving Rusty to be hurt. He'd promised Rusty he'd look after him, and when he'd left, he plainly hadn't spared Rusty another thought. And maybe he couldn't have saved Rusty from everything, but he could have made it _better._

Danny had asked David once how he could live with it. That had been two years after he'd first met Rusty, when they'd finally tracked David down. David hadn't even understood the question at first, and then he'd just shrugged and said Rusty wasn't his responsibility, like that was an end to it.

He hadn't told Rusty that. He understood then, that David wasn't worth it. But Rusty was, and that was what held them here; trying once again to get David out of the hole he'd dug for himself.

And if he said _one more thing _to put that look in Rusty's eyes, Danny was going to...

He took another deep breath. God. It wasn't like David was any worse than he had been before. Maybe it felt like it was worse because Danny himself had changed, or because Rusty would always be a little more vulnerable now. Or maybe it was having Linus there. The kid saw life in black and white; good guys and bad guys, and Danny found himself hearing every word David said through Linus' ears, and he could see the shock and horror.

Hell, this just wasn't a good week. He'd called Tess this morning and Simon had answered. And he'd met Simon before; Simon was a decent man and he obviously cared about Tess, and Tess was happy with him and despite all that, hearing his voice on the phone so early, knowing that he must have stayed over...it drove Danny crazy.

It had been three years. Tess had a right to move on – he'd had a few romantic encounters himself, after all. They were friends now, that was as far as it went. For fuck's sake, would he really rather she was alone and miserable?

He had to be happy for her. And when Simon passed the phone over, he was careful not to even mention it, not to give the slightest hint that he'd ever consider letting it bother him.

But between Tess and David, and worrying about Rusty, he was having real trouble keeping his head in the game. And in this life, he knew that could spell disaster. He had to focus.

The door opened softly and Rusty walked in and stopped almost immediately, hanging back and watching him. Danny frowned, sitting up and studying him carefully. His mouth tightened. The wariness in Rusty's eyes was back.

"What did he say now?" he demanded harshly.

"Nothing," Rusty said at once, and as Danny continued to look at him he sighed irritably. "I haven't seen him."

There was truth there and Danny nodded slowly, but there was also something else, something close to guilt. "What is it?" he asked gently.

Rusty smiled tiredly. "I was about to ask you that," he said.

Yeah. He sighed and shuffled sideways on the bed, and obligingly Rusty lay down beside him.

"I'll be glad when tomorrow's over," Danny told him.

"Me too," Rusty agreed, his eyes closed, his hand shifting till it was pressed against his jacket pocket.

Oh. Carefully he reached into the drawer beside the bed, and took out the packet of nicotine patches, and placed them gently next to Rusty's hand.

There was a long silence.

"You been carrying those around the last two years?" Rusty asked, and Danny was glad there was no anger or resentment in his voice.

He shook his head. "Saw you watching that guy smoking in the bar. Thought you might need them." Hoped that Rusty wouldn't.

Rusty swallowed hard and awkwardly passed the cigarettes over to him. "I didn't..." He sighed. "Sorry."

Danny relaxed a little on hearing that Rusty hadn't actually started smoking again. And there was another question he hesitated to ask.

"No," Rusty told him, glancing at him. "Nothing like that, I swear it."

He placed his hand on Rusty's, lightly squeezing his fingers. "Good," he said thickly, and on some level he knew that he'd kill anyone who drove Rusty to hurt himself again.

For a while they lay in silence, and then Rusty turned his head and looked at him. "So - "

" - I called Tess early this morning," he explained quietly. "Simon answered."

"Oh, Danny," Rusty murmured.. "I'm sorry,"

"I want to be pleased for her," he went on, his face turned towards the wall. "Shesounds so happy. But I just keep remembering...once upon a time I made her that happy."

Rusty didn't say anything, but he held Danny close and that was enough.

He took a deep breath. "After tomorrow, let's take a break for a while," he suggested. Maybe they could go see some people. Get caught up with their friends. Win back some equilibrium.

"After tomorrow," Rusty agreed.

* * *

Linus felt about as self conscious as he could remember being. Dressed in a ripped t-shirt and a pair of baggy pants, with a neon green baseball cap obscuring his face and chains hanging off everything, he felt absolutely ridiculous. And he was certain everyone was staring at him, and surely they had to be able to tell that he wasn't a teenager?

He swallowed hard. This was no time for nerves. Rusty was right; people saw what they expected. And as he laid his skateboard on the top of the sloping wall that led down towards the front entrance of Halfmond Art Ltd, he reflected that no one would expect a mature, sane adult to do _this._

Lord knows what that said about him.

With a deep breath he hopped onto the wall himself and waited until the door started to open. Alright. Now! He jumped onto the skateboard and started hurtling down the ramp, just managing to get enough lift to jump past the startled woman coming out the doorway, and slide off the stone flowerbed, leaving him racing past the security check and onto the marble floor of the atrium.

If he'd been able to do this in high school, he'd have been a god.

"Hey!" the security guard shouted indignantly behind him, running after him as he sped across the floor.

Right. Get him away from the door, don't let him catch you. That had sounded so much easier when they'd been sitting in the hotel room.

Gritting his teeth, he picked up speed, heading towards the far wall where the painting was hanging, amidst the shocked gasps of the people in the atrium.

With a yell he flipped the board off the wall immediately below the painting and triggered the little device in his pocket, so when he landed the spike hidden in the board punctured the marble floor with a loud crack.

Of course, it also sent him flying to the ground, but he'd been expecting that, and even as he landed painfully on his knees, he was scrambling to his feet.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," he muttered, mostly to stay in character, and with a look of terror, he grabbed the board and ran for the door.

The security guard was still on the other side of the room, and he was able to run straught past the security check and down the street without anyone checking.

As he ran, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone and sent the pre-written text to Danny. First stage complete and he'd got away clean. They were good to go.

* * *

Rusty looked over Danny's shoulder, reading Linus' text, and grinned. "So how long do you think?"

"Twenty minutes," Danny said with a shrug.

"Ten," Rusty disagreed comfortably, his attention back on the feed from the phone bug at the flooring company, listening to the incoming calls.

Turned out it was only five minutes before they struck gold.

"This is Rebecca Lewis from Halfmond Art Ltd," the receptionist announced as they listened. "You installed a marble floor for us about six months ago and it's been cracked. I need someone to come over and replace it today – it's urgent."

"Alright," the man on the other end of the phone said, sounding decidedly uninterested. "Let's see. Yeah. I should be able to send someone late this afternoon, but it'll cost you."

"Can't you come a little earlier?" Rebecca begged. "My boss is due back this afternoon and if he sees the crack I really don't know what he'll say."

"I'll see what I can do, but no promises," the man relented, and they drifted onto technicals and specifics.

Rusty looked at Danny. "Forty minutes?" he suggested.

Danny grinned. "Twenty."

* * *

David sat in the cab of the truck and worried. It wasn't as if he resented helping out. Not really, anyway. He was the one who needed the painting, after all. He just wished he didn't have to. Just sitting here watching for the real floorers appearing, made him feel sick and nervous.

All he had to do, Rusty said, was wait until the floorers drove out of the parking lot, use the truck to block the road and pretend to stall. And then, when he couldn't spin that out any longer, he should back into them.

It sounded straightforward enough, but he was sure there were too many things that could go wrong. This whole plan was too complicated. Hell, everything they did was too complicated. Sometimes he almost thought that Rusty cared more about having fun and being clever than making money. Really, from time to time, when he got to thinking about it, he wished that Rusty had never met Danny. His kid brother didn't live in the real world anymore. He was spoiled, living in a world where everything was a game, no risk of being broke, or hurt, or hungry or alone.

But no matter what his personal feelings were, David was going to play his part. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel and looked across at the flooring company parking lot nervously.

God, he wished this was over.

* * *

Danny walked into the atrium a step ahead of Rusty, the papers already in his hand.

"Got a work order here to repair some marble flooring," he drawled. "Contact name is Rebecca Lewis."

"That's me," the receptionist exclaimed, hurrying over. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Boss said it was a rush order," Rusty smiled. "And we had another job in the area that we finished up quicker than expected, so you got lucky."

"Well, I'm glad you're here," she said briskly. "How long do you think it's going to take?"

"That depends," Danny said, glancing into the atrium towards the clearly damaged floor. "We'll need to take a look." He started to walk in, but as expected, the security guard immediately got in his way.

"Sorry, but you and all your equipment will need to be searched before you go in. And I'll need to see your passes and those work order."

"Sure thing," Danny said with a shrug. Right at this moment they had nothing to hide...nothing anyone could find anyway.

The checks didn't take long, and then they were inside looking down at the broken floor. Linus had done a good job.

On the pretext of needing to contain the dust, they put up a plastic tent, covering the hole and giving them plenty of cover to strip the backing off the replacement marble slab, and remove the flattened postage tubes and the Warhol print in the plastic cover. They exchanged a quick smile, and then set about removing all the artwork from the atrium walls.

"Is it alright if we put these behind your desk?" Danny asked loudly, walking over with an armful of paintings, not including the Warhol. "Don't want them getting damaged by the vibrations. Don't think your boss would like that any better than the floor."

"Oh, of course," she agreed hurriedly.

Danny looked round and smiled to draw the security guard into the conversation. "So how long have you got before your boss is back?" he asked curiously. "I take it you want us done and out of your hair before then, yeah?"

"Definitely," the guard nodded, taking a step closer. "It'll be about two hours. Is that possible?"

He sucked air in through his teeth consideringly. They were both absolutely focused on him now, and he didn't have to look round to know that Rusty was swapping out the real Warhol for the print.

"Could be," he said slowly. "Wouldn't be a perfect job, but it would look a hell of a lot better than it does now, and we could come back tomorrow and finish up."

"We'll need to get started right away," Rusty added, walking up and handing over the rest of the paintings.

Rebecca put the Warhol print with the rest without even glancing at it. In the plastic wrap it would pass a casual inspection. The moment someone took it out and looked at it properly, they'd know. But by then they'd be long gone.

"Let's get on with it then," he said cheerfully.

They ducked back under the tent and Danny got to work removing the painting from the frame, rolling it and pushing it into the postage tube. Meanwhile, Rusty started removing the broken marble slab. They needed to at least look like they'd started on the job after all.

"Can you pass the tile saw?" Rusty asked absently after a second.

Danny looked down at the selection of tools awkwardly.

Rusty grinned affectionately. "Oh, we should have had Linus help in here and had you on the skateboard instead."

"Uh huh." Danny raised an eyebrow. "You really trust me with something Roman built?"

"Good point," Rusty nodded. "Why don't you just stay over there. Sit on your hands."

"Your faith in me is touching," he remarked dryly.

Still, everything was going well. All they had to do now was wait for Linus to make the pick up.

* * *

Just an hour after his skateboarding stunt, Linus was dressed in an Armani suit and a pair of sunglasses, looking as far from he had earlier as could be imagined. As long as no one noticed his grazed knees, anyway.

He strode into the atrium, waving his fake ID nonchalantly and waiting impatiently as they searched his briefcase. Aside from five empty postage tubes there was nothing interesting there at all. Once inside he headed up the stairs rapidly, not sparing more than a cursory curious glance towards the tent where Danny and Rusty were working.

The mail room should be first down here, and all he needed were a few courier authorisations, and they were easily lifted along with the stamp that confirmed the mail had been checked by security – once the supervisor had rushed away from his desk to attend to the water cooler that was somehow leaking all over the floor, anyway.

That done he found an empty office and checked the time. Twenty past three. The courier would be leaving at half three exactly.

He quickly stamped the tubes, filled out the paperwork and by the time he hurried downstairs it was twenty nine minutes past.

"Hey! Hold that courier!" he yelled stridently, the tubes bundled in his arms, and everyone turned to look at him in time to see him miss the last step and painfully fall headlong to the floor.

As he lay on the ground, the tubes rolling away down the floor, he wondered why everything today seemed to involve him falling down.

He stumbled to his feet and concentrated on looking dazed and pathetic, before quickly starting to pick up the tubes. A couple of kindly passers by helped him, and then Rusty carefully laid another one on top.

"Here," Rusty said.

"Thanks," he answered. And now he had six, not five, and no one would ever know.

The security stamp was up his sleeve and he quickly stamped the Warhol.

Alright. He hurried over to the entrance and the courier and the security guard were watching him.

"Here," he panted, handing over the tubes to the courier. "These all have to go. Urgent. The addresses are on them."

"Sure thing," the courier agreed uninterestedly. "Sign here. Quickly. I gotta run."

"Just a second," the guard interrupted, quickly checking all the tubes were stamped. "You got authorisations?"

Linus scrawled a name on the courier's pad before impatiently thrusting the paperwork at the guard. Somehow the courier had vanished before the guard had finished checking them.

"Can I get out of here now?" Linus demanded impatiently. "I have a meeting."

The search was cursory and he was waved through. He waited until he was round the corner before grinning exuberantly. Now all he had to do was go to the hotel where the courier would deliver the painting and pick it up.

* * *

David had meant to pay attention, really he had, but he'd been sitting in this truck waiting for something to happen for two hours now. The tedium was torture, pure and simple.

So maybe he'd got to chatting to this girl over text. He'd met her a couple of times. She wasn't that great to look at, but she was hot to trot, and the way he figured it, looks didn't matter in the dark anyway.

She'd sent him a couple of pictures too. Wild stuff, and he'd been so busy looking at them, he'd forgotten to look up until the flooring company truck was not only past him but almost out of sight.

Fuck!

For a long moment he just stared after it, frantically wondering what to do.

* * *

The plan was that they give it about ten minutes after Linus and the Warhol had left, and then leave on the pretext of needing another piece of marble from the van. Simple enough.

It had only been about three minutes, and Rusty was killing time by working on the floor. He already had the new piece of marble in place and he was methodically sealing the gap and smoothing off the join. Actually, even if he did say so himself, it was looking pretty fucking good.

"You ever think you've missed your calling?" Danny asked, amused.

He didn't look up but he grinned. "I'm a perfectionist. We know that."

"Perfectionist," Danny nodded. "That's one word for it."

"You got another?" he wondered.

"Crazy obsessive compulsive," Danny told him.

He grinned some more. "That's three words."

His phone chimed and when he checked the text the grin faded completely. "We have to leave. Right now."

Naturally, Danny didn't ask questions, he just stood up and followed.

David hadn't managed to delay the real flooring people at all. Which meant they could be...

They were already here. Coming in the door, and the security guard was looking from them to Danny and Rusty, the confusion already changing to suspicion and anger.

They didn't have another exit lined up. There _was _no other exit.

The guard slammed his hand into a button on the desk, and the metal shutters slammed down over the doors in an instant. The alarms screamed above him. They were looking at a gun pointed straight at them.

The blood was pounding in his ears.

There was no point in running. There was nowhere to run.

Slowly, his heart hammering in his chest, he put his hands above his head, aware of Danny doing the same beside him.

They were trapped.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, please review. I'll get the next part posted as soon as I can.**


	17. Two years after Part 2

**A/N: Many, many thanks to InSilva for reading this chapter through and helping me make it better. To be exact, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, _many _thanks. All for you, mate. **

**A/N2: This is the second last chapter of this fic! And the final chapter will be very short and hopefully also very soon.  
**

* * *

Linus arrived back at Danny's hotel room right on schedule and was surprised to see Danny and Rusty weren't back yet. That was odd. He'd had to make a detour to pick up the painting but they'd been supposed to head straight back here. They should have been back ages ago. He sat down uneasily. They must have been held up somehow. Or maybe they were in the middle of some new twist to the plan he wasn't privy to. Or, hell, maybe they'd stopped off for a hotdog, or this was a new game called let's-see-how-long-it-takes-before-Linus-starts-worrying. Which, for the record, was slightly less than thirty seconds.

He sighed, wondering what he should do. Sit tight, surely. There was no point in panicking and running off half-cocked. No, best to sit here, watch TV, stay cool and the chances were the guys would walk in that door in five minutes, smiling and full of some unlikely story.

Five minutes turned into ten. Then twenty. Then half an hour. He tried their cells a couple of times but they were evidently switched off. By the time he heard the knock at the door, coolness had evaporated and he leapt up, practically throwing the door open in his haste. "Where have...oh!" It was David. He sighed and stood aside. "Come in."

"Yeah, sure," David nodded. "They not back yet?" he added, looking round casually.

"Not yet," Linus said tersely.

"Oh. Right." David blinked and walked further into the room, staring at the TV for a moment or two, before wandering to the minibar and pouring himself a drink.

Linus watched him uneasily.

"When are you expecting them?" David asked abruptly. "Soon, right?"

"They're late," Linus told him. "And I haven't heard from them."

"Oh." David drained his glass quickly. "Well, I'm sure they'll be fine. You were getting the painting, right?"

"It's on the table," Linus said coldly and he watched disapprovingly as David hurried over and eagerly pulled the painting out of the message tube.

"Magic," he grinned.

"_Careful,_" Linus emphasised. "I'm sure Alvarez won't be happy if you get greasy fingerprints all over it."

David shot him an injured look. "I'm not an idiot," he said.

The jury was still out on that one in Linus' opinion. "Yeah. Well. Just be careful," he suggested. He glanced down at his phone again, hoping that somehow they'd called and he'd missed it. There was nothing, though. He sighed. "I'm going to go out and look for them," he announced, and when he looked up he realised David was looking at him awkwardly. "What?"

"I, uh, had a bit of trouble slowing the real workers down," David explained.

Linus stared at him. "How much warning were you able to give them?"

David looked away shiftily. "None, really. But it wasn't my fault, I swear! And I'm sure it's got nothing to do with this!"

"God. We should've called Turk and Virgil." His mouth was dry as he imagined the real workmen showing up while Danny and Rusty were still there. No way that would end well. Even so, Danny was the best. Linus couldn't count the number of times Danny had talked them out of a sticky situation while they'd been working together. The last thing he wanted to do was blunder in and make things worse. Danny would tell him to stay put, he knew. He bit his lip. "We need to go find out what happened."

"It wasn't my fault," David repeated mutinously.

Linus threw him a disgusted look. "Right now I've got more important things to do than throw blame around," he said, heading for the door. "Come _on._" Reluctantly, David followed.

Twenty minutes later and they were standing outside the Halfmond Art again, watching the real workmen at work. He didn't dare get closer – there were two security guards prowling across the lobby and the whole place had a feeling of being on high alert. There was too much chance he'd be recognised from earlier.

He could send David in, of course, but truthfully, even if he trusted David not to get caught – which he didn't – he didn't trust David to get the info he needed.

Instead he spied out a coffee stand in the square opposite and – with a smile that proclaimed he didn't have a care in the world – slowly sauntered up and bought a coffee and a pretzel. "Heard there was a bit of excitement earlier," he said to the woman casually.

She nodded eagerly. "Oh, _yes,_" she agreed. "There was all this fuss with a kid breaking the floor with his skateboard. You wouldn't think it, would you? And _then _would you believe, the workmen who came to fix it were dragged out of here. By the police. I suppose."

Yeah, Linus doubted it. "You suppose?" he asked lightly.

"Well..." she said slowly. "I didn't see any uniforms. And the van was unmarked. I guess it was plainclothes, although they've always been a funny lot in there. Insular, you know? Maybe they decided to take them to the police themselves."

Or maybe they'd decided to take them somewhere else. He grinned unaffectedly. "Never a dull moment, is there? See you around?" He walked back to David, trying not to run.

All his efforts at being inconspicuous looked sort of pointless when he got back to David, who was looking round nervously and trying to hide his face with his coat collar. "We need to get out of here," he told Linus quickly. "Suppose they do have Rusty and Danny? They'll know all about us by now. They'll be looking for us."

"Even if they do have the guys," Linus said with difficulty. "They won't have told them anything." That would just never happen. He _knew _that. After Carson...how could anything else compare?

"Yeah? Well, I'm not prepared to take that chance," David snapped. "I need to get that painting to Alvarez and then we need to get out of town."

Linus stared at him. "We need to figure out how to help Danny and Rusty," he hissed. "Apparently they were taken away in plain van, so we know it wasn't the cops."

"I'm not crossing Halfmond," David said mulishly. "Not when Alvarez is already pissed with me. That's the last thing I need."

"But Rusty...he's your _brother,_" Linus said incredulously.

David looked away, embarrassed but determined. "I can't help. Rusty will understand."

"Yeah. I imagine he will," Linus said disgustedly. "No one expects very much of you, do they? And even that you manage to screw up."

Jaw set, David just walked past him and hailed a cab.

"You're really leaving?" He just couldn't get his head around it. "I can't believe it. How can you be this selfish?"

For a moment David looked at him, stubborn and sullen. Then, without another word, he got in the car and it sped off.

God. Linus was on his own now. It was up to him to save Danny and Rusty, and he had no idea _how._

* * *

He was focused. He was absolutely calm and focused and not in the slightest bit in danger of suffocating. He just had to concentrate on that, try and stop his heart from actually pounding out of his chest, and watch for an escape opportunity.

Not that one was likely to present itself any time soon. They'd been held at gunpoint in the Halfmond building for barely ten minutes, as the building security desperately tried to find out what they'd done, barking questions at them furiously. They hadn't laid a finger on them though. Clearly there was some question of demarcation here. And he and Danny hadn't said a word – not a helpful one, anyway – and all the while Danny had been silently checking on him, furious and guilty and worried.

Wasn't like Danny had anything to be guilty over. David was _his _brother, and he should have known better.

After that, a fresh group of men – ones without ID badges, and with larger guns – had arrived and forced them outside. They hadn't been searched at that point, luckily. Danny had been walking on the outside and Rusty had managed to slip his phone across, and Danny had calmly dropped them both down a drain. There. Bad guys would never find them, and even if they did, they'd be ruined and useless.

There'd been a van waiting outside. Apparently that provided the cover that the men had been waiting for, because once they were inside, they were both immediately slammed against the wall, and then there were hands all over him, feeling over every inch of him.

Searching him, he told himself fiercely. Nothing more. He could feel Danny's silent pleading, begging him to stay with him, to stay focused, right alongside Danny's fury at the man touching him. Somehow, he had to prove this didn't bother him – to Danny, to their captors, and maybe most of all to himself.

He twisted his head round to look the guy in the eyes. "And we haven't even been introduced," he drawled, and he didn't flinch when the guy spat in his face and knocked his head against the wall.

"Shut up," the guy grouched, and in his head Rusty mentally labelled Oscar. "Or else I'll stop being so nice."

He grinned widely. "Oh, Oscar, you couldn't be nice if you tried," he declared. "I bet birds stop skipping and bunny rabbits fall out of trees as you pass."

"Or the other way around," Danny chimed in, with a look just for Rusty that translated as 'Point made,now _shut up'._

Apparently Oscar agreed. "Shut up," he snarled again, punctuating his words with a punch to the kidneys that Rusty really could have done without. "Fuck it, I'll make you shut up." He pulled out a roll of tape from a shelf in the back of the van, and roughly sealed a strip over Rusty's mouth, before binding his wrists together behind his back.

He had to stay calm. Had to let Danny know that he was okay, that he wasn't panicking, because Danny was already on the edge, and if he tried to fight, they would hurt him.

This was...this was okay. This was just restraint, and he'd _known _that was going to happen. This was just like he'd practised. Not like Moffatt. Not like Moffatt at all.

_(Moffatt had used tape for a whole month, after he'd scored some off Sicko in maintenance, in exchange for some time to show Rusty how he'd got his name. Moffatt had got off just watching Rusty's face._)

It was far worse than when he'd been practising. He acknowledged that and, with a couple of deep breaths, silently rode out the couple of seconds of panic while he was shoved down onto the van floor. Danny was beside him, similarly bound and gagged, and that sent a fresh of surge of anger and terror through him.

They were supposed to be hiding the fact that they were anything more to each other than team mates, and still Rusty couldn't help but meet Danny's eyes, needing to swap reassurances. If there was a way out of this to be found, they would find it.

But they'd been driven across town to the airport, and dragged aboard a small plane, and there'd been no opportunity. And starting a fight while they were in the air sounded like a really bad idea, even if their hands weren't still taped.

He supposed they were headed to Halfmond's place in the desert. Could be a long flight. And no one was bringing them peanuts.

Certain that no one would see, he pressed his leg against Danny's very, very gently and felt the answering pressure.

He should never have taken the call from David in the first place, let alone agreed to have David take part in the con. What had he even been thinking? Everything David touched he screwed up. At least Linus hadn't been caught. Hopefully the kid would have the sense to keep his head low and get out of town at the first opportunity, though Rusty seriously doubted he would. In his own way, Linus was every bit as loyal and as stubborn as they were.

What a fucking mess. They were going to be hurt, tortured, and possibly killed, and he was sure he could cope with the physical pain – far better than he could cope with being tied up, really – but he didn't think he could cope with seeing Danny be hurt. And he really didn't think Danny could cope with seeing him hurt. And maybe that had always been the case but it was different now. He wasn't sure if he could count on Danny keeping calm.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Danny shoot him an agonised look, and maybe Danny wasn't so sure of that point either. There was no one looking. He shot Danny a smile, bright and brief. They were together. That mattered. That made all the difference.

Alright. He closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to unpick the tape from his wrists. He already knew it couldn't be done. Not without something sharp. He'd had enough experience to teach him that, but it still wasn't going to stop him _trying. _As long as nothing stopped him trying, he knew he was still okay.

Eventually, they landed and they were shoved out of the plane and down onto a sandy runway. There was a car waiting, and he found himself remembering what Linus had said about the guy being dragged naked behind it. At high speed, the sand would cut like glass. But they were shoved inside, guns pressed into their sides, just in case they got any ideas about running into the middle of the desert with no supplies and their hands tied behind their backs, he supposed.

The car journey lasted about ten minutes and then they pulled up outside a large house. Little bit tacky baroque, for his tastes, but then he doubted Halfmond had brought them here for architectural critique.

"Alright, boys," Oscar sneered. "End of the line. Out you get." He opened the door expectantly, and Danny made a show of getting out slowly, stretching nonchalantly as he did so. Oscar grabbed him by the arm and pulled him roughly, knocking him face down on the ground as he did so, and Rusty tensed, instinct telling him to kick out, to try and protect Danny from what might follow. But Oscar stood back and let Danny get to his feet, and he relaxed, just a little.

"Come on," one of the other men grunted and they were hauled towards a small outbuilding just next to the main house. Generator shed, he guessed, and when the door was flung open he just had time to see that he was right before they were tossed inside.

Oscar actually smiled as he knelt down beside him. (_Too _close_ and he struggled to keep his face impassive._) "Don't want you wandering around in here," he said to Rusty almost cheerfully, and he pulled out the tape and roughly bound Rusty's ankles together, before moving over and doing the same to Danny. "Mr Halfmond will be here in a few hours. And then the fun will really get started. In the meantime, try and get some rest. You're going to need it." He snorted with laughter at his own joke, stood up and walked out.

As soon as the door was closed, the shed was dark. He couldn't see an inch in front of his face.

(_Bound and gagged in the dark and waiting...Moffatt had left him like that once. The store room on the second floor. He'd been stripped naked, lubed up, hog tied and left on his knees with his ass facing the door, so anyone who opened it would _see..._Moffatt had said he was leaving him for whoever found him to enjoy. He'd known it was just another of Moffatt's games, he'd known that __Moffatt would never let things fall that far out of his control, but as the time ticked by, the dread and uncertainty had killed him, until he'd been close to crying with relief when Moffatt opened the door and slid inside._)

A touch on his arm. Panicked, he flinched back, rolling away, until he realised.

Danny.

Apologetic he moved back, and Danny's head was pressed against his arm, offering comfort and concern. Right. It still wasn't time to panic. Hell, it was _never _time to panic, and guiltily he ducked his head down so his cheek rested on Danny's hair. As much as he wished Danny wasn't here, he was glad he wasn't alone.

Now Danny had his attention, he moved so he was half lying on top of Rusty, his face at Rusty's hands, and Rusty nodded in understanding, no matter if Danny could see it or not. The tape didn't allow him much range of movement, and his fingers were numb with the lack of blood supply, but after a few rough starts he managed to tear the tape off Danny's mouth.

"Ow," Danny remarked mildly, and Rusty grinned thankfully. It was so good to hear Danny's voice. "Okay...now let's swap over."

A couple of minutes later and Danny had pulled the tape off his mouth. "That's better," he said, moving his mouth experimentally, still tasting the glue. "So, generator shed, huh?"

"If we were the A Team, we'd have already built a tank with a potato gun out of some copper line and an old lawn mower," Danny agreed.

He laughed. "I'll settle for something to cut this tape," he said, trying to sound light and nonchalant, but the truth was, he needed to be free.

"Yeah," Danny said quietly. "Place looked pretty empty though."

It had. There'd been a cage taking up half the room where the generator itself was stored, and it looked like there had been tools in there. Where they were though, there was dirt and them, and that was about it. They were trapped. Waiting. In the dark.

Danny shuffled close to him, lying against him, a silent promise that they weren't going to give up.

"It'll be okay," he told Danny softly. "We'll get through this."

They would. Somehow.

* * *

Without much of a clue what to do next, Linus stayed in sight of the Halfmond building and did the thing that he hated most in the world. He called Dad and asked for help.

Dad would be in work right now, he knew. Hopefully he wasn't in the middle of something, and he waited an agonising few seconds before the phone was answered. "Hello, Linus. How's the job going?" As little as he wanted to have this conversation, hearing Dad's voice was always reassuring.

"We're in trouble," he blurted out.

There was a second of silence, then he heard Dad excuse himself from the room. He waited breathlessly. "What happened?" Dad demanded tersely. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Linus reassured him. "But Danny and Rusty..." He swallowed hard. "They got caught and taken away by Halfmond's people."

"Damn," Dad cut in heavily.

"I don't know what to do," Linus admitted. "I don't know how to find them."

"Okay, stay calm," Dad told him. "You said before you were in charge of running research on Halfmond. Did you find anything out that might be useful? Known associates, any other property he owns?"

"There's a place in the desert!" he exclaimed. How could he have forgotten that? But then his face fell. "I wasn't able to find out where, though."

"Linus," Dad sighed. "This is why research _matters_."

"I know, Dad," he said loudly. "Do you think this is really the right time to be giving me a lecture? Danny and Rusty are missing!"

"Alright, Linus," Dad said patiently. "Someone must know where this house is. I'm leaving now...I'll be with you by tomorrow morning. What I want you to do is start going through anyone local you can think of – ask them about this house. Start with the people who told you about it, then - "

Linus was only half listening. " - hang on a minute, Dad," he interrupted. A black limo with tinted windows had just stopped in front of the Halfmond building, and as he watched, Halfmond himself stepped out, followed by Gregory Hart. Neither looked happy. They walked into the lobby, and stood talking to the security guards for a moment, before the receptionist brought over the fake Warhol. Halfmond stared down at it for a moment, before violently throwing it against the wall until the frame shattered.

A moment later they strode back out of the building and back into the limo.

Everything he'd found out suggested Halfmond liked to take a personal interest in things. He took a ..._hands on_...approach to dealing with his enemies. And that meant he was probably going to where Danny and Rusty were being held.

"That's Halfmond now," he told Dad breathlessly. "I'm going to follow him."

Dad made a worried noise. "Linus, are you sure - "

" - he'll lead me right to them," he interrupted impatiently. "He has Danny...I have to do this, Dad. I'll be careful, I promise."

There was a moment's silence. "Okay," Dad said at last unhappily. "Just...keep in touch. Tell me where you are. And don't make a move without telling me."

"Of course not," he lied. He'd do what he had to do. "Talk to you soon." He hung up and sprinted for the car, letting the limo get a way ahead before pulling out and following. Really, if you had to follow a car, a limo was an idea target. It didn't move too fast and it was very, very easy to spot. Still, he kept a couple of cars between them.

After ten minutes or so, he realised that they seemed to be heading for the airport. That wasn't necessarily good. If they were going to the place in the desert, they wouldn't get a plane, surely? Not unless they had their own private airfield. Which was always possible...he just didn't _know. _

God. Every moment counted here. Right now the guys could be being beaten. Tortured. They were counting on him, and he wasn't about to let them down.

There was a loud bang as something crashed into his car from behind, sending him swerving across the road before he managed to regain control. Shocked, he glanced in the rear view mirror in time to see a large black car speed forwards and crash into him again. Desperately, he put his foot down. He'd been so busy trying to follow the limo he hadn't checked to see if anything was following _him. _Maybe this was some bodyguard of Halfmond's?

The car hit him a third time. It seemed to be trying to force him off the road. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't... There was another bang and a squeal, and suddenly he was skidding, and he slammed on the brakes unthinkingly, and the car span round, terrifyingly tipping onto two wheels for a long second, before finally coming to a stop on the verge, facing the wrong way.

For a moment he just sat there, breathing heavily, watching the blood drip onto the steering wheel. He must have hit his head...he hadn't noticed.

The door was forced open and he found himself looking up at a gun.

"Linus Caldwell?" a voice demanded, and he nodded dumbly. "Mr Alvarez would like to see you."

This was ridiculous. He couldn't get abducted now. Danny was counting on him.

Nevertheless, half an hour later, he found himself in Alvarez's office. The man himself was sitting behind his desk, and behind _him _the Warhol was already mounted on the wall. David was there as well, sitting in front of the desk, holding a cappuccino and looking terrified and out of his depth. This had to be his fault. Linus felt his blood boil.

"There some reason I'm here?" he demanded, and maybe belligerent wasn't the right tone to be going with here, but he'd had a _really _bad day, his head hurt, and he didn't have _time_ to be abducted right now.

Alvarez looked up at him slowly. "Mr Caldwell," he said with a pleasant smile. "Please. Take a seat."

There was something in his tone that suggested this would all go faster and easier if he obeyed. He sat down, gritting his teeth. "Is there some reason I'm here?" he asked again, quieter this time. "You have your painting. I thought that's what you wanted."

"It was indeed," Alvarez beamed. "But I believe you've had some trouble since then, and I find we're in the position to help each other."

Oh. "I'm listening," he said politely.

"You see," Alvarez went on pensively. "I was never really expecting David here to be able to get the painting."

"I told you I could," David said sullenly, and closed his mouth quickly as they both turned to look at him.

"But you couldn't," Alvarez went on mildly. "So when my people told me that you were so confident, and you'd found some outside help, I sat up and took notice. I did some digging. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that David Ryan – poor, bumbling, useless David – is closely related to criminal royalty. That's the sort of information that can really make a difference to a man's understanding of a situation."

Damnit. Sounded like David hadn't been keeping his mouth shut like he should. "I still don't see what this has to do with me," he said guardedly.

Alvarez smiled. "It's very simple, Mr Caldwell," he said. "David here tells me that his brother and Danny Ocean have been kidnapped by Halfmond. I am of a mind to have them rescued."

He kept his face blank as best he could. "What's the catch?"

"Clever boy," Alvarez said with a delighted laugh. "Indeed, it would be a stupid man indeed who committed such a benevolent act without getting some return. And I assure you, I am anything but a stupid man." He waited expectantly.

"Of course not," Linus managed to murmur.

"Danny Ocean. Rusty Ryan. These are names which mean something. I have reports of their genius and ingenuity that stretch back two decades. They seem to have managed to accomplish remarkable things. _Impossible _things. I think I would appreciate having such men under my employ. Oh, not forever," he added, seeing the look on Linus' face. "But let's say...for six months? That doesn't sound so bad, does it? Six months of working for me in exchange for their freedom. I would say that's fair. David here certainly agreed."

David shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I wouldn't say - "

" - oh, but you did," Alvarez said agreeably. "You were more than happy to make this deal. However, I know that I certainly wouldn't honour any business dealings a weasel like you made in my name. You, on the other hand, Mr Caldwell, you are a different matter. They brought you in with them. You're their friend, yes? Their business associate. So. That's really the first question here. Would Danny Ocean and Rusty Ryan honour an agreement you made in their names?"

He swallowed hard. "I don't know."

"Oh, come now," Alvarez chided. "No false modesty. They respect you, don't they? They'd do what you promised. Especially as the consequences for you if they didn't would, naturally, be unpleasant."

Damnit. He nodded slowly. He was sure they'd do it for him.

"Well then," Alvarez smiled. "It seems we have a deal then, yes? I get your friends to safety and they work for me. I'll get a contract drawn up shortly. Let's have some champagne."

They'd do it for him, if he asked. Any distasteful task this man would set them. And the alternative was that they'd be hurt, maybe killed, and wasn't that what he wanted to avoid? He wanted them safe. He wanted them back.

"No," he said quietly.

Alvarez paused in the act of lifting his phone. "What was that?" he asked mildly.

"I said no," he repeated loudly, swallowing hard. "We don't have a deal. I won't make Danny and Rusty work for you. No matter what."

"Really." Alvarez shook his head, looking surprised and just a little amused. "Well, well. How...unexpected."

"Linus," David hissed. "Maybe we should think about this. Mr Alvarez is offering to go to a lot of trouble - "

Linus turned on him fiercely. " - no," he said flatly. "No. Not ever." He glanced back at Alvarez. "So that's it, right? We've got no more business to discuss. You've got your painting. We can go now."

"Certainly," Alvarez agreed affably. "No one is stopping you." He waited until Linus had stood up. "I like you, boy. You have spirit. I hope that when your friends turn up mutilated and broken, they don't blame you too much."

He froze, trying not to think about it, trying not to imagine it. He'd get them free himself. Somehow.

"Thank you, Mr Alvarez," David gabbled as Linus was walking to the door. "Thank you for at least considering...no hard feelings, right? And may I say the painting looks very - "

" - I suggest you leave," Alvarez suggested pleasantly. "Now."

David practically sprinted past him on the way to the door. Once outside, he immediately turned on Linus.

"This is your fault, now," he snapped. "You should have taken what Alvarez was offering. Now whatever happens, it's all your fault. I hope you know that. And I'll be telling Rusty what you did. We'll see what he says."

Linus looked at him for a long moment. "You don't know _anything,_" he said. "And the next time you get the urge to shoot your mouth off about your brother, I suggest you do us all a favour and staple your lips together."

"Fine then," David said huffily. "I'm leaving town while I still can. Just like Rusty told me to after the job."

This time Linus didn't even try to stop him as he stormed off.

* * *

Anger and outrage were crashing through him. Rusty was tied up...vulnerable...going to be _hurt_, and Danny couldn't stop it, and he couldn't stop the screaming in his soul.

He wished it wasn't dark. Not that he had a problem with the dark so much – he just couldn't stop thinking, if he could only see Rusty's face, if Rusty could only see _him, _this would be so much better. He'd be better able to tell how Rusty was really doing, better able to promise that, somehow, he'd get them out of here.

Savagely, he bit his lip. This was his fault. It had been his idea to use David. Him being sentimental, and he'd ended up putting more importance on their privacy than their safety. And he should have insisted they leave immediately after Linus, to hell with looking suspicious. He'd let them get caught. He'd let _Rusty _get caught, get tied up and trapped, and that was the last thing he'd ever want to happen.

This was the first time this had happened since they were back together. Over the past two years, all the danger seemed to come from the inside. And yes, they'd kept right on lying, cheating and stealing, and of course he'd realised there was a good chance they'd end up here or somewhere like it sooner or later – hell, he'd had nightmares about it almost as often as he'd had nightmares about Rusty back in prison. He just...he wasn't prepared. Maybe there _was _no way to prepare.

Maybe he should have put his foot down when he'd got Rusty back. Maybe he should have decided long ago that it was more important to keep Rusty safe than to stay in the game. Hadn't Rusty suffered enough, after all? It wasn't like they needed the money. He'd retired for Tess once, why wouldn't he do the same for Rusty? Because he was selfish and stupidly over confident and -

" - Stop thinking," Rusty told him suddenly, unexpectedly pressing his shoulder against Danny's in the darkness. "You're giving me a headache."

He grinned tiredly. "I just - "

" - well, don't," Rusty said quickly. "We're here now and wishing isn't going to change that."

Yeah. So far neither were effort, ingenuity or luck. They'd attacked the tape with fingernails, teeth, the rough stone floor, the corner of the metal cage around the generator – anything. It had proved invincible. Rusty didn't seem surprised. Danny carefully wasn't asking, but the anger _burned._

He sighed. "They're taking their time."

"You got somewhere you'd rather be?" Rusty asked lightly, and the humour was there, the panic controlled, and Danny felt so damned _proud. _He knew the effort Rusty had put in eighteen months ago, trying to learn to cope with being tied up, but they'd both known full well that the actual would be so much worse. "Waiting makes everything worse," Rusty added a second later, and Danny shivered slightly at the simple knowledge in Rusty's voice.

"Or they've forgotten about us," he suggested lightly.

There was the slightest pause. "Maybe there was something more interesting on TV," Rusty suggested.

Danny pursed his lips. "I'm sure you can't get a decent signal all the way out here."

"I think you're thinking of phones," Rusty said. "And I saw a satellite dish when we were coming in anyway."

Danny turned his head and stared at an approximation of where Rusty was. "You looked for a satellite dish? What, were you hoping they'd let you watch JAG or something?"

"I was looking for skylights and shit," Rusty explained with dignity. "Figured we'd be taken inside. Was looking for potential ways out. And JAG makes me sea sick anyway. Think it's the uniforms."

The humour was more than a little forced. "We'll get out of here," Danny promised him gently. "Like I said, it's been a while. When we turned up missing, Linus will have called Bobby."

Rusty groaned. "I just got done with people looking at me like I'm going to break."

"Price we pay for getting kidnapped," Danny said easily. And if that was the only price, he could live with it. Though really, they wanted to get out of here by themselves. He wanted Rusty _safe._

But they heard the sound of a car pulling up and footsteps coming closer.

"Halfmond," Danny guessed softly, and he could feel Rusty nodding beside him. Halfmond. And that meant they were out of time.

The door was thrown open. The light was blinding and they lay blinking helplessly, until their eyes adjusted enough to see Jerry Halfmond standing in the doorway, flanked by Gregory Hart and the thug Rusty had christened Oscar.

"Here you are, Mr Halfmond sir," Oscar said eagerly. "Just like I promised. All tied up and waiting for you."

Out of the corner of his eye Danny could see Rusty's face remained impassive. But he could feel the tremble that passed through him and that was the moment he realised they were still lying too close together.

"Very cosy," Halfmond remarked softly. "So. You are the men who stole my Warhol." He walked further into the room and idly kicked out at Danny.

It caught him in the shoulder. He didn't react, aware of Rusty's fury nonetheless.

"Not very impressive," Halfmond commented, looking back at Hart.

"They're out of their league," Hart agreed.

"Look who's talking," Danny smiled, his eyes flickering from Hart to Halfmond.

With a howl of rage, Hart strode across the floor, aiming a kick at Danny's jaw. He barely had time to brace himself before the pain hit, and he cried out briefly before savagely biting down on his tongue. God, that hurt. But as long as they were focused on him not Rusty -

" - you like hitting people who can't hit back?" Rusty demanded loudly. "Let me guess; you were bullied as a child, right? What happened? Did Mommy make you wear pigtails? You look like the type."

For a moment Hart stared at him. Then he leapt over Danny and started kicking, and Rusty lay there and took it, and didn't make a sound.

Danny snarled, desperately trying to get free. "No!" he shouted, unable to help himself, the blood pounding through his head. With every kick and blow he died a little, and his wrists were bleeding as he tried to pull them apart, tried to get free, knowing he would kill Hart in an instant.

"Not exactly proving me wrong here, are you?" Rusty said when Hart stopped, and even Danny couldn't hear the pain in his voice.

"Not very bright, your friend, is he?" Halfmond remarked to Danny as Hart delivered another powerful kick to Rusty's back.

He gazed up at Halfmond, torn between pleading for him to let Rusty go and showing his hatred. He already knew that neither would do any good. In fact, he could see it in Halfmond's eyes. _Nothing _was going to do any good. Rage crystallised. He had to keep the attention on him, and he had to make sure they didn't realise that nothing would hurt him more than seeing Rusty hurt.

He forced a grin. "So, I suppose you want to know where your painting is, fucker?"

Halfmond held up his hand and Hart stopped immediately. Thank God. Danny struggled to hide his relief. "Clever boy," Halfmond said approvingly. "I want to know where my painting is, and I want to know who put you up to this. Answer those two simple questions and I'll let you go with only a very little inconvenience."

The plan was Halfmond was supposed to see him considering it. Supposed to think that he was the weak link, that he could be...persuaded. Only for a moment, Danny found himself really considering it. What was Alvarez to him, after all? Nothing. Less than nothing. Alvarez would make for a good mark in his own right. And yes, that would lead straight to David...but Danny wasn't exactly feeling overjoyed with David either. David's safety or Rusty's. It shouldn't even be a _question. _Fuck morals. Fuck the rules. Fuck everything he was, if it came to that. Rusty was tied up and hurting and at this man's mercy, and nothing else mattered.

Even if Rusty never looked at him the same way again, even if Rusty never forgave him, wasn't that better than the alternative?

"Don't," Rusty whispered. "Please."

Danny didn't look at him. Not even for a second. But he still couldn't say no.

"We burned it," he lied, looking straight at Halfmond. "Protest against pop art."

Halfmond sighed. "And for a moment there I thought you were going to be sensible." He looked thoughtfully from Danny to Rusty and back, and Danny tensed, feeling like they were being laid bare. Exposed. "Very well then," he said regretfully. "You really are insisting on ruining our evening, aren't you? It's Gregory's birthday, you know. We had a reservation at Torelli's. Having to cancel in order to deal with you imbeciles has not exactly brightened our day. So remember. Two answers. That's all we're looking for."

He moved back and Hart and Oscar crowded round and the pain began.

Boots and fists. Punches, kicks and body blows. After a couple of minutes or hours, the world constricted to a blur of pain, and still Danny was craning his head, desperate to see what was happening to Rusty, and then blows that hit him didn't hurt half as much as watching the ones descend on Rusty. He saw the blood. Watched the bruises form. Saw the blankness in Rusty's eyes, the disassociation, and he was going to kill them. He was going to kill them all.

Danny couldn't suppress the soft gasps and groans of pain. Rusty was silent, and as awful and terrifying as that was, Danny rejoiced. More evidence to show that he was the one who'd break, he was the one they should be concentrating on, and he'd let a little more of the pain show deliberately, not enough to be obvious but enough that they'd see.

He could feel Rusty glaring at him. Oh, Rusty knew what he was doing but he already knew Rusty couldn't do the same. The conditioning ran too deep, and he was sorry...

Hart brought his heel down on Rusty's cheekbone, and Danny _screamed..._

It stopped at last. Halfmond walked around them both for a moment, looking round like he was assessing the damage. Then he crouched companionably beside Danny. "This is just a taster, you know," he said confidingly, his thumb digging viciously into the bruises on Danny's shoulder, and this time Danny couldn't suppress the gasp of pain if he tried. "We're going to do so much worse. To you _and _your little friend."

Not Rusty. Not Rusty, _please._

"Just two questions," Halfmond pressed.

Mouth set, Danny shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Halfmond sighed regretfully. "Very well," he said, and he nodded to Oscar.

A second later and they were hauled to their feet and dragged over to the cage.

For the first time Rusty made a noise, a soft gasp of startled misery and Danny looked over to see Halfmond holding two sets of handcuffs. Rusty's face was pale. For a fleeting moment Danny wondered why. Just what had happened that made handcuffs so bad. Not like they could have been a regular feature, surely. Different possibilities danced in front of his eyes, and the fury led to him kicking back viciously, stamping on Oscar's knee, and it wasn't so much about the thought of escape as the desperate to desire to punish someone, even a little.

The howl of pain was briefly satisfying before he was thrown against the inside of the cage, next to Rusty, his hands cuffed through the fence above his head. A moment later and Hart was bent over in front of him, tying his legs to the wall with copper wire, pulling it viciously tight. Painstakingly he went up Danny's body, making absolutely sure that there was no give, no possibility of moving even an inch away from the metal cage. This couldn't be good.

He was supposed to be trying to make them forget all about Rusty, but it wasn't working, and he couldn't help but look over anxiously, couldn't help but check how this was affecting Rusty. There was carefully hidden hell on Rusty's face and he wasn't looking at Danny. Too many memories here. Too many awful possibilities and Danny was swearing at Halfmond, spitting hate and fury in a fit of helpless rage.

The words bounced off Halfmond like he didn't even hear them, as he carefully donned large rubber boots and gloves, before turning his attention to the generator itself.

Oh, God. No. Please, no. He looked around urgently, practically forcing Rusty to meet his eyes in his need. This was going to be bad. This was going to be very bad indeed, and he took comfort from the strength in Rusty's eyes, offered the same comfort. Together. Always.

Oh, Rusty. He was so, so sorry. He should never have let this happen. He should never...

"The hose, Gregory," Halfmond said pleasantly, and he moved aside and a second later the water was crashing over the back of them, cold and painful and stagnant, soaking every inch of them.

He was shivering as Halfmond stepped forwards with two leads in his hand. With a contented smile, he clipped one onto the wire cage by Danny's hand. "Now, he said easily, looking Danny straight in the eyes. "Are you ready to think about answering my questions?"

This was going to hurt. This was going to be hell. He longed to reach out and take Rusty's hand.

He shook his head.

Halfmond nodded. "It's your choice," he said, and he clipped the second lead onto the cage next to Rusty.

The pain came immediately. He was being burned alive from the inside out, jerking and convulsing, helplessly throwing himself against the wire, feeling like he was about to tear himself to pieces. Bright rivers of light seared across his eyes until he was certain they were going to melt out of his head. The sound of his own screaming echoed through his head and he couldn't stop, he couldn't...

It stopped at last, and he slumped, the handcuffs and the wire the only things keeping him upright. The smell of burned meat soaked through him. There was blood trickling out of his mouth. He must have bit his tongue.

Desperately he tried to lift his head, needing to see Rusty, needing to see if Rusty was okay, but his muscles just wouldn't respond to him.

"Rusty..." he gasped. "Rus'."

"'m here," Rusty promised indistinctly, and now Danny could hear the pain, and Halfmond had done this, Halfmond had hurt Rusty and he couldn't bear it.

With a sigh, Halfmond grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head up. "Are you ready to cooperate now?" he demanded mildly.

"Go fuck yourself," Danny said hoarsely.

Halfmond straightened up the lead already in his hand, and the pain came again. And again. And again.

Danny lost track of the times. Lost track of anything but the agony and Rusty. He passed out at some point, and Halfmond backhanded him harshly.

"We are not going to waste our entire evening on you," he snapped as Danny blinked up at him stupidly. "I promise you, this is still only a fraction of what you can suffer. Let me show you."

At his signal, Hart – grinning – pulled out a trolley covered with knives and saws, scalpels and hammers and things that Danny wasn't even sure what they were supposed to be used for if not to inflict pain.

Halfmond looked slowly from Danny to Rusty, and picked up a chisel. "Now," he said. "Gregory and I are going to go and enjoy a romantic dinner, and maybe a little sex, if all this has put us in the mood. You are going to stay right here, and you're going to look at all these instruments and you're going to think about just what we can do to you. Nothing so nice as what you've experienced so far, I promise you. Nothing that will heal. And maybe by the time we come back, you'll have reconsidered answering my simple questions."

They walked out of the shed, hand in hand, laughing, Oscar following behind them.

"Rusty," Danny said weakly, before being overcome by a fit of coughing. "Rusty. "

There was no answer.

The trolley of instruments gleamed with awful promise.

* * *

It had taken a lot of fast talking and the sort of nerve he hadn't even known he possessed, but Linus had managed to get his hands on the flight plan Halfmond's pilot had filed. It showed a journey to a private airfield in the middle of the desert, and that sounded promising. Linus could only hope it was accurate.

Looked like there was a road of sorts that would lead straight there, but he figured it would take at least a five hour drive, and that was going flat out. Halfmond already had a headstart and he'd be flying. Linus could very well be too late already.

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists around the steering wheel. No. He couldn't think that way. Danny and Rusty...the guys had survived worse than this, he knew. He'd get there, and somehow he'd get them out, and they'd be home in Chicago, enjoying Mom's Sunday lunch before they knew it.

As he sped off, he glanced down at his phone. He should call Dad. He _had _to call Dad, really – someone should know where he was going just in case...just in case. Unfortunately he already knew what Dad was going to say.

"Linus?" Dad answered anxiously. "I'm just about to get on the plane now. What's happening?"

"Halfmond flew to an airfield in the desert," Linus told him breathlessly. "I'm guessing that's where Danny and Rusty are being held. I'm going after them now."

"No," Dad said immediately. "That's suicide. Wait for me. We'll figure out a plan. Do it properly."

He could hear the fear in Dad's voice and it hurt. "Dad..." He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "I can't wait. You know that. They're my friends, I can't abandon them. I'll be careful, I promise, but I'm going and you can't talk me out of it."

There was a long moment of silence and he waited, somehow nervous.

"If it was you, you wouldn't wait," he blurted out.

Dad sighed. "No," he admitted softly. "No, I wouldn't. Alright. Just be careful. Call me when you get there and don't do anything without talking to me first." He paused, and Linus could hear someone in the background asking for his ticket. "I'm...I'm very proud of you, Linus," Dad said at last with difficulty.

There was a lump in his throat. "Thanks, Dad," he said hurriedly, before he said anything stupid. "I'll see you soon."

He hung up the phone and put his foot down.

Oh, God, let him get there in time.

* * *

It had been an age since Halfmond left. Rusty couldn't guess how long – hours, anyway. The pain was still thrumming through him. The burning had subsided to a duller agony, and it felt like every muscle and sinew in his body had been torn and twisted out of place. He hadn't felt this sore since Moffatt and the cane. Worse were the soft noises of pain Danny was making with every breath and movement. He could feel the agony Danny had been left in, and he couldn't do a thing about it. No matter how much he stretched and struggled, there wasn't enough wiggle room for him to reach out and touch Danny, and though he'd tried for what seemed like hours, all words felt inadequate.

This was his fault. This was all his fault. He'd seen the way Halfmond looked at Danny. They were going to concentrate on Danny, he knew, and that was because he hadn't been able to attract their attention. He'd tried, he really had. He'd tried to scream and shout, tried to just make any noise at all, knowing they were looking for what they thought of as weakness. Sort of ironic that he was too weak to fake it. And so instead they were going to hurt Danny. They'd left lights on this time around. And waiting in the dark was bad, but waiting in the light, staring straight at the rows of sharp and gleaming death was so much worse.

Imagination. He couldn't stop picturing these tools in Halfmond's hand, seeing the moment when they cut into Danny's flesh, seeing the blood flow, the bone shear, leaving horror and mutilation behind. And _pain. _

Not Danny. Oh, please, not Danny. How had he let this happen? He was supposed to protect Danny, no matter what. It was his job.

"Now who's giving who a headache?" Danny said, his voice cracked and hoarse.

Rusty swallowed painfully and strived for lightness. "I was just thinking about pie."

"Uh huh." Danny took a deep breath, wheezing and rattling. "What flavour?"

"Cherry," he said. He closed his eyes for a second. "Danny - "

" - I know," Danny interrupted gently. "I know, Rus'."

He turned his head painfully and Danny was just inches away and still out of reach. Their eyes met in an exchange of love and agony and forever.

"No matter what," Danny whispered.

"No matter what," he echoed, and still he'd give anything for Danny to be far away and safe. There had to be something. Some way. Surely. Because it was looking increasingly likely they were going to die in this shed.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the door slammed open and Halfmond strode in followed by Gregory Hart.

"I've just had a very interesting phone call," Halfmond announced, walking straight up to Danny and leaning in close in a way that made Rusty growl. "It seems my Warhol is now hanging behind that Philistine Alvarez's desk."

Oh. Well. Looked like they didn't have any more questions to answer.

"You don't look like Alvarez's usual thugs," Halfmond added, reaching out and grabbing Danny's chin to peer more closely at him. "Not that it matters. We don't have any more need for you." He paused expectantly then frowned. "This is the part where you're supposed to beg for your lives."

"Not going to happen," Rusty said with a charming smile.

"You might as well skip onto the next part," Danny added, sounding bored.

The next part. He didn't look at Danny but inside he was howling. He didn't want to see Danny die. He couldn't...he _couldn't. _

Halfmond's face darkened with displeasure. "I'm going to make an example out of you," he told Danny. "I'm going to teach you the true meaning of pain, and then you can go and tell anyone who asks just what a bad idea it is to steal from me."

At his signal Hart stepped forwards, unlocking Danny's cuffs, and Rusty watched breathlessly as Danny immediately punched out, trying to get free. But Hart just sighed and punched him in the face, and Danny was ripped off the wall and dragged onto the floor, his hands secured onto an iron hoop set in the middle of the floor, and Rusty was screaming. "No! No! Let him go, you bastards! Let him go!"

"Hush now," Hart commanded, standing up and punching Rusty twice in the gut, leaving him slumped and struggling to breathe. "It'll be your turn soon enough." Hart laughed as he walked past, grabbing the trolley of tools and hauling it back to Danny.

No! Danny! Nonononononono! He struggled futilely, trying anything and everything to get free, and Danny turned his head, looking straight at Rusty, and the love wasn't enough to hide the fear.

"Let's start with the basics," Halfmond mused, tying a tourniquet around Danny's arm and pulling it tight. "Something that will ensure you don't put your greedy hands on my property ever again." He picked up a large jagged saw. "I'm afraid this is going to get somewhat messy," he said, and Danny's eyes were wild and terror-filled.

He had to do something. _Anything._

"Wait!" he said loudly, injecting his voice with all the calm authority he could, and Halfmond stayed his hand (_Thank you, thank you, thank you) _and looked up at Rusty, waiting. With a desperate effort, he managed to smile. "Maybe there's something else you want. Some other arrangement we can come to?" He tilted his head and tried to look enticing and flirtatious, tried to consciously project the air of sensual sexuality he'd once worn as a casual cloak.

Must have been at least slightly effective.

Hart stood up, intrigue in his eyes, and Halfmond at least put the saw down. And Danny...Rusty could see the horror dawning in Danny, immense and absolute, and resolutely looked away, focusing all his attention on Halfmond and Hart.

"And why would we be interested in that?" Halfmond asked mildly, but Hart was walking over towards him, staring at him with fresh eyes.

"He is very pretty, Jer," Hart commented. "Even with the bruises and shit."

"Really," Halfmond said, an edge to his voice.

Hart glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh, don't be like that Jerry. It's my birthday and I just want to be on top for once."

Rusty bit back on all the obvious comments. This wasn't about causing trouble, this was about protecting Danny. That was all that mattered here.

"No!" Danny had found his voice, choked and strangled though it was. "No. Don't...don't..."

Halfmond looked down at him sharply. Rusty didn't. "My, my," Halfmond said, like he was re-evaluating something. He looked back to Rusty, a thoughtful smile playing around his lips. "So what exactly are you offering?" he asked, as though they were discussing the weather.

Rusty smiled widely and licked his lips. "Whatever you want," he promised breathily. "Whatever - "

" - no," Halfmond said mildly. "No. Be specific. And don't act like you want it."

Oh. He looked Halfmond straight in the eye. "I'm offering to let you fuck me," he said flatly. "I'm offering to let you use my body any way you want. As much as you want."

He could hear Danny shouting at him, lost somewhere in a world of helpless incoherence and fury. He kept his eyes locked on Halfmond. This was between them.

"Mmm," Halfmond said softly. "I suppose you might as well check out the merchandise, Gregory."

"No!" Danny screamed, as Hart stepped forwards grinning, and started running his hands all over Rusty's body. Rusty did his best to hide the shudder of disgust, all too aware that he was tied up, that he couldn't move, couldn't get away, even as Hart slowly pulled the zip down on his overalls and tore open the shirt he'd been wearing beneath, and this echoed to more memories than he could count and he couldn't stand it and inside his head he was screaming.

"He's gorgeous, Jerry," Hart called back delightedly. "Nice even tan, smooth soft skin..." He dipped his hand around, somehow forcing his way between Rusty and the cage, leaving the wire dragging into him painfully, and with an appreciative whistle he started groping Rusty's ass. Rusty tasted blood as his teeth tore into his tongue. "Good muscle tone too. Shame about these scars though," he added, sounding slightly disappointed. "They ruin his looks a little. Still. This might just be the best present you've ever got me."

Didn't seem like Halfmond was really listening, instead talking conversationally to Danny. "You hate this, don't you? Seeing Gregory touching him. Imagining us both on top of him. Don't bother trying to deny it, I can see it in your eyes. Is he yours? I can see you love him, anyway - you're more afraid now than you were when I was going to cut your hand off. I'm going to enjoy coming in his ass, knowing you're watching. It isn't even rape, is it? He offered, after all. This is all his idea."

Rusty flinched. Hart's hands were still busy exploring.

Danny let out a sound that might have been a snarl and might have been a sob, but was more miserable and devastated than Rusty could have imagined.

He knew what the alternative was. This...this was worth it. This had to be worth it. It wasn't even really a choice.

He was shaking as Halfmond stood up slowly, leisurely walking over to him.

"Alright, Gregory," he smiled. "Since it's your birthday, we'll have some fun."

Hart grinned. "Thanks, Jerry," he said, leaning over and kissing his boyfriend, quickly and tenderly.

"Now then," Halfmond said softly, turning to Rusty. "We're going to make this hell for both of you. And you're going to do everything we say, because if you _don't, _I use the saw." His eyes were full of laughter, and they all knew he was going to do that anyway, and still it didn't even _matter._ He paused and glanced back towards Danny. "Do you think he'll ever look at you the same way?"

No. No, he wouldn't. Danny would hate him for this, and he was sorry, but he couldn't do anything else.

Halfmond stepped forwards, pressing his body against Rusty's, grinding against his hip and kissing him forcefully, his tongue thrusting deep into Rusty's mouth, like he was taking possession, like Rusty was nothing more than a doll that he could use, abuse and throw away.

Danny was screaming his rage and hatred.

This was hell.

* * *

It was dark now. Linus had been driving for hours but he'd arrived at the airfield, anyway, such as it was. It was simply a flattened track with a strip of lights. The only reason he even recognised it as an airfield was because there was a plane sitting at the end of it. This had to be the right place. There was a trail leading away, deeper into the desert, and that had to be the way to the house surely.

He followed it carefully, and when he saw the lights in the distance, he stopped the car and shut off the engine, not daring to drive closer in case he was seen.

Alright. He swallowed hard. This was it. He was here. And he had no idea what to do next.

Biting his lip, tense and nervous, he called Dad. Not surprisingly, it went straight to voicemail. Dad's plane would still be in the air. "Hi, it's me," he said unnecessarily. "I've reached the house. It's not far from the airfield. Everything seems quiet. I'm going to take a closer look." He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and these might be the last words he ever said to Dad. "I'll...uh...I'll see you when I see you, okay?" He hung up and sat for a second, his head hung low, breathing hard. Alright. He had to do this. Danny was relying on him.

Carefully, he stole closer on foot, pausing at the top of a low ridge, and the house was spread out beneath him. Two stories. Some sort of a shed out back. A car parked at the front.

Okay, there would need to have been someone taking Danny and Rusty here. Say two men, assuming one of them had been flying the plane. Then there was Halfmond and Hart themselves, plus _their _pilot. That meant there were at least five people in the house, and there could easily be twice as many. And there was only one of him. Hell, he didn't even have a gun. He should have. He should have thought to pick one up from town, he could have got one somewhere he was sure.

But he hadn't and all he had was his ingenuity and his wits. Somehow he needed to cause a distraction so he could sneak into the house and rescue Danny and Rusty, and he needed to do it _soon. _

For all he knew he was already too late.

* * *

If this was a nightmare, Danny would like to wake up now, please. This was all his worst imaginings come to life while he watched, helpless.

Rusty was untied and stripped to the waist. Hart stood in front of him, holding his wrists and biting obsessively at his throat, leaving little dots of blood on Rusty's skin, while Halfmond stood behind him, running his fingers possessively down Rusty's back and looking straight at Danny.

"If you look away, even for a second, I'll staple your eyes open," he promised. "Then I'll do the same to him."

"Don't," he begged hoarsely, before he could help himself, and Halfmond smiled and grabbed Rusty's hair, forcing his head back and to the side and kissing him harshly, and Rusty didn't make a sound, and Danny choked on the taste of hatred in his mouth. How could Rusty do this? How could...

There was iron determination on Rusty's face, but Danny could see the hell in his eyes.

* * *

Hoping against hope that it worked, Linus crept towards the house, keeping low. So far so good. He snuck around the edge of the car and, with a certain amount of effort and silent swearing, managed to force the gas cap open. Okay. Now the tricky part. Hurriedly, he tore off his tie and his shirt sleeves and dipped them into the gas trunk. Now all he needed to do was to lay them under the car, splash out a trail of gasoline and get as far away as he could before throwing the match.

Easy.

* * *

He couldn't look at Danny. Before, Danny might have been a source of strength. Now, he thought the shame would kill him.

He was dressed only in his boxers now, and their hands were all over him. This wasn't a nightmare, and he felt sick to the stomach. He'd chosen this. Asked for this, because it had been the only way to protect Danny, the only thing he could think of to offer, and that didn't make it easier to bear. Especially not when he knew this was hurting Danny all the more.

He couldn't just stand and let them do this. Not with Danny watching. It would be seven years ago all over again, only this time Danny really would hate him forever.

But he couldn't fight either, because Danny was still bound and helpless, and if he didn't win – and he wouldn't win – they'd hurt Danny, and Rusty had put this idea in their heads now, had got them aroused and interested and maybe...maybe...

He couldn't fight. Not on his own, anyway.

"On your hands and knees, whore," Halfmond ordered pleasantly, lightly shoving him, and he stumbled, falling against Hart, his hand oh-so-accidentally ending up resting against Hart's groin.

"Eager, aren't you," Hart laughed, grabbing Rusty's hand and pressing it against the crotch of his pants, and the sensation made Rusty long to grab that saw and cut his own hand off.

But it meant that Hart really didn't have a hope of noticing when Rusty's hand slipped into his jacket pocket and grabbed the handcuff keys.

"I said on your knees," Halfmond reminded him, and as he sank down, he sent the keys spinning across the floor towards Danny's right hand.

Of course, he had to look at Danny to do so.

Danny's eyes were an endless well of anguish, and he was looking at Rusty like they were right in the middle of the end of the world. But his hand closed around the key instantly, and it was already hidden when Halfmond turned to him.

"Anything you want to say?" he asked Danny, his hand resting possessively on the small of Rusty's back. "Or should we just get on with fucking your boyfriend's brains out? By the time we're through, he probably won't even remember your name."

"Please don't do this," Danny begged, his voice hollow and defeated. "I'll do _anything._"

"I want you to pay attention," Halfmond said calmly. "This is the consequence of stealing from me."

There was the sound of a zipper behind him, and even as Rusty was bracing himself, Hart was kneeling down in front of him, his lap level with Rusty's face, and he reached out and grabbed Rusty's hair, pulling him forwards towards the awful bulge in his pants, and Halfmond's hands were on his boxers, hauling them off, and at least they were going to be too distracted to notice Danny freeing himself.

He closed his eyes. That was no comfort at all.

Out of nowhere, the sound of an explosion ripped through the air, close at hand.

Hart was on his feet immediately. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, already running to the door. "Shit, there's smoke," he reported back. "Something's on fire...I can smell gasoline?"

At that moment there was a yell and the sound of gunfire.

"Shit," Hart said again. "We'd better go find out what's going on."

Halfmond nodded, standing up swiftly and wiping his hands off on his pants. Even though Rusty saw the kick coming, he was powerless to avoid it. For an instant he felt the sharp pain in his temple, and then everything faded away.

* * *

The car had exploded satisfactorily, and everyone had come running out of the house, just as he'd hoped, but then they'd seemed to catch sight of someone, and that wasn't what he'd planned at all.

For a moment he thought they'd caught sight of him sneaking around the side of the house, towards the back windows, but then there'd been shouting and someone shooting back, and obviously something else was going on.

Alvarez's men, he realised, recognising the one who'd kidnapped him taking shelter behind the still-burning car. Obviously Alvarez had decided to go ahead with his plan and try and negotiate terms with Danny directly.

From a certain point of view it was probably flattering, but right now, it was just irritating. Now he had to try and free Danny and Rusty before Alvarez did, and before Halfmond's men got back into the house.

* * *

The tourniquet was still cutting off the blood flow, and his hands were still shaking with shock and anger, and the after effects of the electricity, and that made twisting his hand to unlock the cuffs almost impossible.

He gritted his teeth; he didn't have much time. Whatever was going on, someone was going to come looking for them sooner rather than later. At last the handcuffs came open, and he clambered painfully to his feet, limping over to where Rusty had been cuffed unconscious to the cage, and after a half-second's hesitation, started to uncuff before trying to bring him round.

Didn't make a difference; Rusty started to stir almost immediately, gazing up at him with bleary, unfocused eyes. "D'nny?" he slurred. "You need to run. Leave me."

"Uh huh." His mouth set grimly, Danny concentrated on unlocking the handcuffs. "Think there's been enough of that from you tonight."

"Sorry," Rusty muttered wretchedly.

The cuffs fell open and Danny caught Rusty's hand and very briefly brought it to his lips. "Later," he promised. "Right now, you need to get dressed and we have to run."

But there would be a later.

* * *

Linus reached the back of the house and immediately started looking for a likely window to get in. With all the fuss around the front, it seemed impossible that anyone would be here, which was why the soft cough behind him had him leaping out of his skin. "What the..." He span round to see Danny and Rusty leaning against the wall of the generator shed, looking beat to hell but obviously alive and free.

Of course. He should have known. It was inevitable that they'd find their way out of this with no help from him. But even as he was thinking it, he was so _so _glad to see them, and without any element of conscious control, he stepped forwards and threw his arms round Danny, hugging him tightly, and Danny gripped his arm lightly in a moment of understanding reassurance, and a second afterwards he automatically turned to Rusty, but Rusty jumped (_flinched_) back before he'd even touched him.

"I'm all bruises," he excused himself.

Linus nodded, and it was obviously true, but some part of his brain was busy acknowledging that this was the same sort of jumpiness Rusty had displayed during the Benedict job, when Linus hadn't known him well enough to realise how uncharacteristic it was.

"Your handiwork?" Danny broke in, smoothly covering the moment and nodding towards the plume of smoke and the pitched battle still raging from the other side of the house.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Well, Alvarez sort of crashed the party, but the explosion was all mine."

"Thanks," Rusty said quietly. "You got a ride to get us out of here too?"

"Oh. Yeah, we should move," Linus agreed. "The car's just up this hill." He hesitated, because the more he looked at them the worse they looked. "Are you going to be okay? I mean - "

" - we'll manage," Danny told him dryly. "We'll manage just fine."

All the same, the scramble up the hillside seemed pointedly silent, and at first Linus assumed that pain and effort accounted for that, at least until they reached the car and he saw the way Danny followed Rusty into the backseat without actually looking at him.

His brain-to-mouth filter let him down once again. "Are you guys fighting?" he demanded incredulously. Somewhere in between getting kidnapped and tortured and escaping they'd found something to disagree on? Really?

Danny met his eyes in the rearview mirror. "Just drive please, Linus," he requested evenly.

Right. Not his business and they wanted to get a head start before Halfmond or Alvarez...whoever won...realised they were gone.

He drove and watched them not watching each other, and he hadn't been around at the start of the argument last time, but he'd seen the effects and it didn't exactly take a dedicated student of human nature to realise they were much happier together.

"We'll get you to a doctor when we get back," he said, and that was met with no response whatsoever. "Think Doctor Stan is pretty close, isn't he? I'm sure he wouldn't mind the trip." More silence. "Oh, and Mom invited you both for Sunday lunch tomorrow. I mean, if you don't feel up to it that's fine, but I got the impression she'd really like to see you. Both of you."

It was almost a relief when the black SUV appeared in the rearview mirror, bearing down on them rapidly, Hart hanging out the door, gun at the ready.

It was even more of a relief when the helicopter came over the horizon seconds later and landed on the road just ahead of them, and Dad leapt out wearing his FBI jacket , holding _his _gun, and looking straight at Linus like he'd never been so glad to see anyone.

They were in the air and heading home before the SUV had gone thirty yards.

* * *

With an effort they managed to shrug off all Linus' anxious looks and deflect Bobby's probing questions. Right now father and son looked rather more alike than either of them would probably be comfortable with.

He hurt and he really needed a shower and it was easy enough to be gracious and grateful and thank Bobby for getting them to the safe house in Palm Springs, and for the fact that Stan would be flying in to see them, and just for the rescue and everything, but really, all he was focused on was Danny and the coldness hovering in the air between them.

Shock and anger, he thought. Not hatred. Danny was understandably hurt and angry, but he didn't think he'd ruined everything. He hoped he hadn't ruined everything.

Sometimes their friendship felt so much more fragile than it ever had before. And he truly didn't know if that was just because he understood what he could lose.

Didn't take Bobby long to notice things weren't right between them, and that gave them a whole new string of questions to evade. "Fix this," he said quietly, as they were going upstairs.

Easier said than done, Rusty thought.

"We need to talk," Danny said, as soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone.

He nodded. "Shower first," he pleaded.

Danny looked at him and he didn't know how to go about hiding the stench of filth and degradation.

Danny's eyes softened. "Shower first," he agreed, and he stepped forwards and drew Rusty into his arms and for a moment Rusty just hung there, limp and uncertain, before he realised that _Danny _needed this, Danny needed the touch, the connection and reassurance, far more than he had.

"I'm sorry," he whispered miserably, and he could still see the look in Danny's eyes when Halfmond had forced him to the floor. "I'm sorry."

There was silence, and Danny's hand rested on the back of his neck, holding him close. "Shower first," Danny told him, kissing him gently on the forehead. "I'll be waiting when you get out."

He stumbled into the bathroom and managed to get undressed. His muscles still felt like they were on fire, and he was exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open let alone stand up in the shower. But he needed to be clean. Danny's anger hadn't gone anywhere and he had to be able to focus on that. He ducked his head under the water, pressed his hands against the tiles and imagined all the filthy handprints from where they'd touched him, just washing away.

The door opened after five minutes or so. No knock. And that was either good – Danny acting the way they always would – or bad – Danny not trusting that he wasn't in here hurting himself.

"That was Linus at the door," Danny said into the cloud of steam. "He brought some clothes round for us."

Huh. "It's two o'clock in the morning," he pointed out. Where did he find them?

Danny shrugged. "He has ingenuity and gumption."

Rusty smiled tiredly. "Yeah." He tried not to think about how much they owed the kid right now. He'd really come through for them. Far more than they'd ever have dreamed of asking.

"I'll see you in a minute," Danny said as he exited the bathroom, and he hadn't _seemed _to be checking on Rusty.

He got dressed slowly and walked out into the room.

"So," he said, swallowing hard.

"So," Danny nodded. He'd got changed into fresh clothes as well, and somehow that only made the cuts, bruises and lines of pain stand out all the more. They'd hurt Danny. They'd hurt Danny and if he hadn't stepped in it would have been so much worse. He imagined again the saw cutting through flesh, digging into bone, and he could hear the sound of it, could hear Danny screaming.

"I can't be sorry for stopping them," he said heavily. "He was going to cut your hand off, Danny."

"And you really think he wouldn't have gone straight back to that once he'd..." Danny paused for a second, struggling to speak, the shudder running through him. "Once they'd finished with you?"

"Of course not," Rusty said immediately. That had never been in the cards. This had been all about delaying the horror, not having it happen right there and then. "But every second he'd put the saw down, we had the chance of getting out, right? That's how it works, Danny. We need time to watch for the opportunity before anything - "

" - permanent?" Danny's mouth twisted. "You really think it would be alright if - "

" - no," he interrupted harshly. "No. I don't. But talking practically, there wasn't anything they could do to me that hadn't already been done. There's nothing new they could take."

"That doesn't make it okay," Danny cut in, his voice low and heavy with grief, his face pale and drawn. "What, is rape just another option now?"

It had always been an _option. _He took a deep breath. "That's not what I'm saying - "

" - you put the idea in their heads," Danny told him, almost shaking, and Rusty wasn't sure if it was anger or pain. Both, he guessed. "They weren't even thinking about doing that until you suggested it."

He swallowed hard. "Yeah. They were just going to saw your hand off, right?"

Danny paused. "It's not the same thing."

They locked eyes. "Exactly." Agitated, he ran his hand through his hair. "Look. I'm not saying it was a good idea. I'm not saying it's okay. It's a very long fucking way from being okay. But it's...I could get through it. I could survive – I did before, after all." Barely. And only because of Danny, and they both knew it.

"I'd rather die," Danny told him, his voice low and fierce.

Rusty stared at him and when he spoke his voice was every bit as low, every bit as fierce. "And would you rather we both die?" he asked. "Because maybe that might be the choice. You need to think about that, Danny. You can't protect me from everything."

"I know," Danny said, his voice haunted, and he was looking straight at the bruises on Rusty's face.

"I didn't want to let them..." He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to let them. I got the keys, remember? I gave them to you so we could fight them together. So we could escape. I wasn't gonna just lie there and take it, Danny. I swear it."

"I know," Danny said again, miserably, and Rusty knew he was imagining that fight. Them, badly hurt, barely able to stand, trying to take on two armed men who'd enjoy every second.

"Thank fuck for Linus, huh?" Rusty said, offering a subdued smile.

"Yeah," Danny agreed. He shut his eyes tightly. "Rus'..." There was a long second of silence and when Danny looked at him again Rusty could see every inch of agony, every heartbeat of helpless rage, all the what-ifs and the might-have-beens and the overwhelming plea; '_Don't do this to me again. Don't let me lose you again.'_

He reached out, his hand trembling, and he rested his hand on Danny's check. Danny turned his head and kissed Rusty's palm tenderly, and it felt like forgiveness, and in that instant he thought about everything that had happened that day, and Danny held him close until the threat of tears had died away.

"We survived," he reminded them both softly.

Danny smiled crookedly. "Thought we were all about living these days."

"It's a work in progress," he said, the answering smile flitting gently over his lips. "Want to go reassure Linus and Bobby that we haven't killed each other yet?"

Danny grabbed tight hold of his hand. "A moment longer," he said softly, and looking into his eyes, Rusty silently offered all the promises he could – that he was here and he wasn't going anywhere.

A moment longer later, they found Linus sitting on a chair in the hallway, facing the stairs, looking for all the world like he was on guard, though his chin was nodding against his chest and his eyes were closed.

Rusty imagined he hadn't exactly had an easy time of it either. Was tough to be the one waiting...searching...worrying.

Danny stepped forwards and laid his hand on Linus' shoulder. "Hey, kid," he said gently.

With a yawn, Linus stirred, blinking up at them owlishly. "Oh. Yeah. I was just waiting..." He yawned again. "Stan phoned. He'll be here in about two hours."

Really, Rusty wasn't so sure that they needed a doctor, but he wasn't going to argue. "Thanks, Linus," he said instead, sincerely, and he was amused to see the kid blush pink.

"It's nothing," Linus assured them earnestly. "Since this was my...I mean, it's the least I can do."

He exchanged a quick look with Danny. "How do you figure it's your fault?" Danny asked slowly.

Linus backpedalled furiously. "Well, I know it's not my fault, but I should have managed to get to you sooner. By the time I got there you'd already escaped."

Uh huh. He could hear the rich guilt in the kid's voice. "Linus," he said, his voice serious enough that Linus turned and looked at him immediately. "You got there right on time. Yes, we got _out _by ourselves, but if it hadn't been for you, Halfmond would still have been in the shed when we did. And that...wouldn't have gone well."

Linus shuddered, obviously imagining. "No," he agreed.

"You did good, kid," Danny chimed in gently. "You saved us. Time to be proud."

"And it really wasn't your fault," Rusty added firmly, as Bobby came up the stairs. He hesitated for a second, but he had to ask. "Did you see David after?"

"Yes," Linus said unhappily. "He...he left town. I tried to stop him. I'm sorry, Rusty."

Rusty breathed a sigh of relief. "'s okay. He can look after himself."

That earned him three incredulous looks. He grinned slightly in acknowledgement. "He can keep his head down until the danger's passed," he amended. "I'll give him a call, let him know it's safe."

"Or you could just leave it," Bobby and Linus said in near unison, and they stared at each other, startled.

Danny smiled. "Did someone mention something about Sunday lunch?" he asked.

Bobby's face lit up. "Molly would be delighted to see you," he said. "In the meantime, I got coffee and sandwiches downstairs. You should have something before Stan gets here."

Sounded good. He looked at Danny as they were walking downstairs. They were both hurting and exhausted, and they'd faced death and worse-than-death and still...

Danny smiled straight back at him, his eyes warm and full of hope and love.

Things could be so much worse.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, please spare a moment to review. :) **


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